


Daphne Potter and the Cursed Child

by ElpisLumina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Daphne Greengrass, Blood and Injury, Curse Breaking, Curses, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Fix-It, Good Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry is a good husband, One Big Happy Family, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, harry is a good father
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23833297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElpisLumina/pseuds/ElpisLumina
Summary: They had found peace in each other. The war was over, love had bloomed, things were supposed to look up. It was not meant to be. In a desperate attempt to save his daughter’s life, Harry Potter risks past and future. If history must be unwritten, then let it be unwritten. Time-Travel.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Harry Potter
Comments: 94
Kudos: 249





	1. Chapter 1

###  #### Chapter 1: Rewrite the Stars

Mr. and Mrs. Potter of Greengrass Manor were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

They lived a simple life in a quiet place. Their children, magics bless them, were rarely capable of leaving such quiet alone. This peaceful Saturday morning was broken by the sound of an argument, the clattering of eating utensils and an awoken toddler who had decided to join in on the fun.

Harry stood, grabbing his glasses from the bedside. When his wife groaned in defeat, he smiled, throwing his half of the oversized blanket over her. “I’ll see to them.”

He wasn’t sure if she was giving him a thumbs up or a rude gesture, but by the time she would be able to untangle herself from the tiredness, he would be done.

Hopefully.

Out of the doors to their bedroom, passing the portrait of his in-laws with a short nod as they soaked in the Mediterranean landscape. Through the hallway plastered with blue flowers, enchanted to never fall out of their pots, and down the stairs into the entrance hall. To the right of it, a lounge to enjoy relaxation without needing to stray too far from the front door. Further to the right, the dining room in plain view, so they could watch their children eat while dealing with documents that should not be kept near volatile food fights.

And inside that dining room, motion.

A rather stout house elf picking up the spoons and forks that had been strewn across the floor in front of him. “Good morning, Moppy.”

Moppy nearly dropped everything in his hands. “M-morn’, my lord!”

Another spoon flew out of the kitchen, hitting Moppy on the back and Harry sighed. “Thank you for your hard work this morning. I’ll go calm them down.”

Moppy nodded, continuing the cleanup by hand. With magic, the house elf could be done in seconds, but any excuse not to deal with the mess in the kitchen was likely welcome.

‘Miss Daffy and Miss Asty were always so easy to handle,’ Moppy had once told him.

He would agree, but only because Daphne hadn’t had much of a reason to get wine drunk when she was a child.

Using a small stepping stool, their daughter Astoria was at the same height as Teddy and twice as menacing with a spoon ready to be thrown. Teddy held a cutting board in front of him, taking swings like a beater when he thought Astoria would throw them. That explained the cutlery poor Moppy had to pick up outside.

Meanwhile, Lily toddled around and approved of the noise that the dishes made whenever she slammed shut a cupboard. His appearance caused the young girl to abandon her pursuit of what made the loudest bang and run towards him. She slipped over one of the spoons, leaving Harry to catch her with a flick of his wand and levitate her over to him.

“I didn’t know we _had_ that many spoons here,” Harry said, drawing the kids’ attention. Teddy had the decency to let go of the cutting board. Astoria and her spoon did not, hitting the boy in the head with her last throw. “I suppose someone is going to explain what you were trying to accomplish?”

“She keeps trying to steal my wand!” Teddy said, rubbing his head. He stood taller than most kids his age, certainly taller than the children at school. “And I told her she just needs to wait another year for her letter—”

Astoria, unable to let the accusation stand, crossed her arms. Young as she was, she managed to pull off the indignant pureblood sneer as well as her mother. It was almost sad her hair matched his. “You said ‘squibs don’t get wands’! I’m not a squib!”

“Alright,” Harry said, shifting Lily from one side to another when she pinched his cheek. “I suggest we deal with this later and make a deal, alright?”

Teddy shrugged, letting his sister’s accusation stand. He knew that Harry could tell who was lying.

“Mum’s up in bed after a long and difficult week,” Harry said, pretending to whisper. Ignoring the eyeroll of his eldest daughter, he pointed at the door. “So if you help Moppy clean up all the spoons, we’ll go make some breakfast and surprise her in bed. Sound good?”

Astoria jumped off the stool and ran out, nodding. Teddy began collecting what was left on the kitchen floor.

“I could do this with magic,” Teddy muttered. Harry grinned.

“That won’t teach you a lesson, will it? Why I seem to remember a strongly worded letter by the headmistress last year about your attempts to cheat during detention—”

“Okay, okay! Please stop!”

“Why, I ought to write a strongly worded letter myself, maybe to the esteemed head of the DMLE—”

Harry leaned out of the way of a rather sloppily thrown silencing spell. “You can’t solve all your problems with magic, Teddy. I want everything to be clean by the time I’m back.”

Teddy grumbled, putting his wand away. His hair morphed into an embarrassed red. “One day I’ll hit you.”

Harry shook his head, turning around. By the smell, Lily must have decided to fill her nappy and run around with it unconcerned. “Not in a hundred years, kid.”

“Da—er… Harry?” Teddy called out quickly. Harry turned his head. “Are you going to be here? T-this weekend, I mean?”

Harry nodded, smiling at how Teddy’s eyes lit up. Usually when Daphne came home for the weekend, Harry had trips to make and people to meet. The last month he had spent with Luna dealing with an obscure library of books on all kinds of magics. While he was home more often than his wife, Teddy was unhappy to be left with what little time he had when he wasn’t at Hogwarts without everyone.

Of course, he was also too proud to admit such a thing. Harry was more than happy to keep the boy’s pride intact.

The utensil gathering went faster afterwards.

####

After a just slightly too-loud breakfast, involving slightly too-burnt pancakes, Harry found himself standing at the entrance of the Shell Cottage. Teddy’s only real friend at Hogwarts was Bill’s daughter, Victoire, which was reason enough to visit during the school holidays.

The fact that both he and Daphne were available together made it better. Usually, it was her alone that brought them during the weekend.

He felt a pang of guilt. It felt like small hands that wrapped their fingers around his heart. Of course, even if he was with his family this weekend, that did not mean his daily research would suffer. Bill was among the best Curse Breakers in all of western Europe.

Said man greeted them at the door with a bright smile and brighter hair. Teddy had his shoes off and was inside before Harry was able to say a word. Fleur came up behind her husband, raising an eyebrow.

“Your spawn seems to get more savage by the day, Potter,” she said, looking at Daphne. Harry smiled, giving the woman a kiss on the cheek in greeting. “Hello, Harry.”

“Of course,” Daphne said, kneeling to grab the shoes and properly put them away. “Having to deal with Weasley children all the time rubs off on you eventually. I’m surprised he doesn’t keep his hair red all the time.”

Fleur laughed. The melody of an unconcerned mother. When Daphne stood back up, the woman wrapped his wife up in a hug. Daphne returned it gladly. Lily pushed away from Harry, demanding to be let down. The second Harry did, Lily sprinted into the home as well, forgetting to take off her shoes. Astoria was the only one left standing at the door, peering up at Bill.

“Hi, Uncle Bill.”

Bill smiled at her, bending down to put a hand on her head. “Good day, Astoria. How are the language lessons going? Have you started French yet?”

“It’s _Miss Potter_ ,” the girl insisted, swatting his hand away. “I’m almost at Hogwarts! You better start treating me like a lady!”

“Your wife is a terrible influence on your children,” Bill said, mock bowing to Astoria. Harry snorted. “Good day to you, Miss Potter. Would you like to join us for tea?”

 _Lady_ Miss Potter, always the connoisseur of all kinds of dried leaves as long as they were imaginary or with half a cup of sugar, shook her head, turning up her nose.

“I prefer the tea that Moppy prepares.”

Fleur and Daphne were already inside, leaving their husbands to deal with the princess.

“I suppose that also means that a lady such as you doesn’t want the chocolate frog you get for helping set up the table, correct?” Harry asked. Astoria had her shoes off before he had finished speaking, putting them neatly besides Teddy’s and walking into the home of the oldest Weasley.

“Harry—”

“It’s going to be a long day,” Harry said quickly, his hand reaching Bill’s shoulder to push him inside.“Let's talk later, after dinner?”

“Let’s.” Bill nodded.

####

Molly, as loving as always, had arrived with a massive basket of snacks and sweets. George would not be coming today. Hermione’s children were with her. Rose was young, barely five years old, and Hugo was two.

Hermione and Ron had… not quite separated. And while Harry was happy enough to stay at home and take care of the children, those two were career-mad. They both made time to catch up with him on the rare occasions they could—Hermione over his research and Ron over a couple beers—but each other? Well, at this point the only reason those two had remained married were because of Rose and Hugo.

There had still been a few weeks where he’d taken their kids to stay with him, when Molly was busy, but besides that, the only people that he was spending any significant amount of time with besides his own family were Bill, Fleur, and Luna.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Harry and Bill were close. Closer than he was with Ron these days, for sure. Once Daphne had joked with Fleur that their husbands seemed more married to each other than to them. Harry hadn’t appreciated Bill’s failed attempt to kiss him while the latter had a mouthful of potatoes.

Luna spent her time in Greengrass Manor with her husband when she wasn’t traveling the world with him. Rolf was nice enough, and maybe just a little bit more eccentric than his wife.

That wasn’t to say Harry had few friends. He had many, and many more who appreciated him wherever he appeared. Being a war hero would do that, of course.

“Are you alright, dear?” Molly asked, placing a concerned hand across his forehead. Harry smiled, pulling her hand away from his face. She was older now; the lines on her face were deeper, but the years had not been unkind to her. Being surrounded by so much family was healing.

Harry knew that.

“Yes, thank you, Molly,” he said. He looked around as he stood up, making sure Lily was not getting caught up in whatever Teddy was planning near the stairs to the upper floor. “I’m afraid my hair isn’t red enough to be mothered at the age of thirty.”

“Nonsense. Just a bit of rub-in potions and we’ll have that problem solved.” Molly patted his head not unlike Bill had done to his daughter before. “You seem distracted.”

Harry looked to the left. Daphne was sitting with Astoria, who was trying to make young Rose pronounce her name correctly. Fleur joined them, causing no small amount of exasperation in his daughter when Rose greeted the woman perfectly.

“Yes, I’m… I’m fine,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. Molly didn’t look convinced, her lips pressed together into a thin line. She grabbed the sides of his head, forcing him to look at her.

“I know how you feel.” Molly’s voice was strained. “Like time is slipping through your fingers. Just another year and suddenly Astoria will be at Hogwarts, not even six years and Teddy will be out of school, ready to take on the world.”

“No,” Harry said. He bit his cheek, once more forcing her hands away from him, slightly more forceful than he meant to. “Yes. You know. It’s not just that.”

Molly’s glance towards Lily caused her eyes to glisten. Not many people knew.

Of course, anyone who would ever be asked about Harry Potter standing in the darkest abysses of the wizarding underworld and inquiring about blood curses would deny such a thing.

Harry did not tell many people, but few people who dabbled in the dark arts were stupid. If anyone had ever pieced it together, none of them had said a thing.

When it came to _trusting_ people, however, there was not one person besides Daphne he trusted more than the oldest Weasley boy. Because Bill understood. More than anyone, Bill understood.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Harry said, “I think I heard Bill call for me. I’ll be in his study.”

Molly nodded, once more unable to stop herself from touching his face. A short pat on his cheek and he was gone.

####

“Harry, this…” Bill looked over the written notes scattered across the desk. The ingredients. The glint of hope that shone behind Harry’s eyes. “This is madness.”

“Is it?” Harry asked. He was hunched over a table, his right hand on his face. He felt himself trace a fading scar from the bridge of his nose, down his cheek and onto his chin.“Is this truly mad enough to work?”

“That’s not what I said,” Bill said, raising an accusing finger. Harry took a step away from the table, spinning around to meet the accusation head on, shaking his head.

“No,” Harry conceded, waving his hands towards the notes. “But those would not be your first words if it wouldn’t work.”

“This will _kill you_.” Bill’s voice was a rushed whisper that rose just a bit too high for a man with such a deep voice. He shook, pointing at the drawn up page-long hypothesis. The fruits of countless hours of research. “It will destroy you! If not right after the ritual, then certainly in the years to come!”

“I’m still not hearing a ‘no’.”

Bill ran his hand down his face, roughly reaching around his mouth as if to stop himself from shouting. Harry could see his nails digging into the scarred flesh. The other hand came up to point once more, bidding him to wait so he could gather his thoughts.

“I understand,” Harry said. He bit his lip, looking towards the door of the study they were sitting in. They could hear Teddy and Victoire laughing. Molly was telling them to stop whatever they were doing, but the two simply became louder. “So please, understand my position as well. What if it was Victoire?”  
  


Bill’s breath hitched. The Weasley’s eyes darkened. Harry knew. He had attacked the one vulnerable angle. The fear that Remus had had when Teddy was born. That somehow the werewolf traits would appear in their children.

Harry moved to apologize, but Bill stood quickly, grabbing Harry by the shoulder. “You will die. It will work, but you _will die_.”

Lily’s joyful squealing laughter cut through the noise that Teddy and Victoire were making. Astoria joined in. Harry turned his head almost involuntarily, his eyes unfocused as he listened to the muffled sounds of their children playing. When he faced Bill again, his eyes were resolute. His lips were curled in a gentle smile.

“What is the life of one person for the lives of the most beautiful souls in the world?”

Bill embraced him and Harry’s shaking hands patted the man’s back.

####

Harry was no stranger to restless nights. Three in the morning saw him hunched over a large table in his study. Pages upon pages filled with highlighted paragraphs were sprawled over it, the colours radiating mockery.

It was a puzzle. One he had no solution for. One that, once upon a time, he would have called beyond his capabilities. He was not studious; he was not naturally talented. But he had one thing that could beat those things out, something that Hermione had told him would one day help him.

The sheer discipline, dedication, and audacity to look at something that hundreds of people had told him was impossible and say ‘no’.

He roughly grabbed one of the pages, an autopsy report, if it could be called that. A dissection. _The subject suffered from minor strokes throughout their lives—_

His gaze set it on fire. _Subject_. The word appeared on many pages. Many reports.

 _Medical reports indicate_ —

_Violent outbursts—_

_Pain akin to long-term Cruciatus exposure—_

— _death so cruel, the Killing Curse was once used to end the life of one subject who had begged to die._

More pages joined the flames. He would have set the entire table on fire had it not been for the arms that were wrapped around his back. Daphne leaned onto him, her face just under the back of his neck. Her skin was soft on his, and for a moment he was lost in it.

“Just because you’re here this weekend doesn’t mean you get to hide from me,” she whispered. Harry swallowed his frustrations and worries, enjoying the warmth. He stepped away from the table, turning around and taking in the sight of his wife dappled by crackling firelight.

People had called her cold, unapproachable. To him she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Her grip around him was firm, loosening only so they could stand face to face. Despite her words, he could see her gaze moving towards the table. Her own worries. Her own shame. He put his hand on her head and hugged her tightly, her face pressing into his chest.

How could someone so warm ever be called cold?

Her breath hitched for a moment.

“I’ve… found something,” Harry said. She went rigid. Her arms grip became uncomfortably tight. “Something you’re not going to like.”

“Then you haven’t found anything.”

“Far better than the alternative. Back when I made that deal with the Fae folk—” Harry started. She raised her hand, trying to put a finger on his lips. He turned his head, though not before kissing the tip. “Back then, one of them said something I chose not to understand, because all the interpretations of it weren’t things I could accept as an answer. Because I knew you’d not like it.”

“What?” she asked. Her voice was tiny. It mirrored his own whenever the weight of lies burdened him.

“If the curse can’t be broken,” he said, raising a shaky hand to her cheek. “Then...maybe it can be redirected. Trading time.”

“No.”

Harry and Daphne had made a promise. An oath. Something that they felt necessary for the sake of their family when they’d found out.

Harry would never be angry at his wife. Daphne would never be angry at her husband.

Which was why her rejection was not causing him to get upset. He did not react as he would have years ago when he was a teen.

“One life,” Harry said. His voice was weak. “ _My_ life for the life of my daughter. It wouldn’t kill me right away, but—”

“ _Our_ daughter,” Daphne said, not in anger, but in desperation. “Our daughter who needs her parents.”

“I would still be there,” Harry said, trying to assure her. “It trades in time, a chronomantic ritual, I exchange all the years that I have left with all those she has, she will grow old and I’ll be there to see her graduate.”

“And bury her father when she’s barely out of school? You’re insane and reckless!”

“Daphne, please,” Harry said, not in anger, but in despair. “I can’t—”

“You can’t.” Her grip tightened. He could feel her fingers digging into his back. Her forehead rubbed into his chest as his shirt became wet with tears. “You can’t. You can’t. _You can’t_. I can’t watch you die like she did.”

“Would you have us watch Lily die your sister’s death instead, then?” This was the only way Harry knew how to be cruel—when he was trying to convince someone to watch him die for them.

“They’re still of cursed blood; even if you decide to take the burden, one of their daughters will—”

“Will have more time, more research.” Harry’s voice was more forceful than he had intended it to be. “Just as we gave Astoria more time with our decision to have Lily. I will not accept what your parents did, Daphne. I will not see my daughter suffer.”

“Then let it take me!” Daphne’s grip loosened. She pushed him away. Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose running. “I was meant to die anyway, my sister took my curse! Let me take Lily’s!”

“I’ve already decided on this.” His words were strong. Determined. He wasn’t really asking for her permission, he was asking for her forgiveness. “I will destroy all the notes I have on this ritual.”

“You arrogant—” Daphne’s hand slapped against his chest. More followed with each word she spoke. “Selfish, miserable, death-seeking bastard—”

Harry couldn’t help himself. He laughed, catching the next slap with his own hand. He pulled her hand up and rubbed his cheek into it. “I’ve been selfless for so long, I think it’s high time for me to be selfish for once.”

His voice broke. He couldn’t see his face, but he imagined it was much like hers. Upset, with quivering lips and tears in his eyes.

“Some days,” he said, pressing his forehead onto hers. “Some days I wake up unable to find a reason to stand up. Certain that nothing I do matters. But it does, because of you. We have lost too much.”

Daphne opened her mouth. He could feel her breath on his face. He could see it reflected in her stormcloud eyes. That short moment when she wanted to argue. Where she had the words to stop him on the tip of her tongue. Where she saw the doubt in his eyes that this would truly be the best option.

Then she closed it. Closed her eyes, too, just for a moment. Just long enough, he thought, to imagine a world where she said no, one last time, and he listened.

Just long enough to know what she was losing when she chose not to.

Her left hand joined her right on his face. He smiled.

Lily Potter had once broken the laws of magic.

Lily Potter, second of her name, would break them again.

“I love you,” Daphne said. Harry leaned in and kissed her.

####

Inside a small room in the back of the manor, further away from any others, Harry had finished the last of his preparations. It was spartan, with wooden floor boards, a lack of windows, and a single Lumos to illuminate it all.

The ritual was ready. It wasn’t complicated whatsoever.

When people thought about rituals, they often imagined complicated incantations, specific setups on specific days, the blood of twenty virgins, the dried genitals of an angry troll—

Harry stood in a runic circle. Daphne stood outside, Lily in her arms. The girl, despite the late hour, was awake, somehow forcing herself to keep her eyes open despite the gentle humming of her mother.

Rituals, Harry had found, were often deceptively simple. In fact, the _expectation_ of a complicated ritual was one of the main reasons that simple ones failed. Much like spellcasting, rituals required three things.

Magic, intent, and a catalyst.

 _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken_.

Harry shook his head, grabbing the ritual knife he had prepared. Daphne turned away her gaze when his hand hovered over the prepared cauldron. Her hands went over Lily’s, shielding the girl’s eyes.

“Blood of the father,” Harry announced. The magics of the world listened. The knife ran down his arm, silently opening the wound. Ruby blood ran down into the liquid wishes that slushed in the cauldron. It was painless. He sighed in relief. A nod to Daphne brought his daughter closer.

He took her hand. Though her gaze was still shielded from what was happening in front of her, she grasped his thumb, holding on tight. The shaking of his hands stopped.

“Blood of the daughter,” Harry declared. The magics responded. A single prick on her arm. A single drop, as he dared not take more. He could say it was because this ritual was supposed to heal her and he didn’t want to ruin it with her pain, but he didn’t need excuses like that. He just didn’t want to hurt his daughter. Daphne stepped back, quickly sealing Lily’s wound with a swish of her wand. “Feather of a phoenix.”

Harry dropped his own wand into the cauldron. As it slipped from his hands for the last time, he felt a tinge of regret and affirmation. He would have no need for it anymore, and it seemed his wand agreed. The time had come. Daphne hesitated when he stretched his arms out to take Lily. He knew she had her doubts, but this was it. This…

He raised Lily, beautiful one-year old Lily, and slowly lowered her into the cauldron. The hazy prayers and liquid wishes rose up to meet her. The faint red glow around her proved, just as it had when she was born, that the curse was alive.

The smoke from the cauldron _pulled_ , curling around him like claws. For a short moment, the world became aware of his intent. The red around her dimmed and moved towards him.

Lily cried. Not in pain, as the ritual should have been absolutely painless. A drop of blood fell on her. She was spooked, upset. The girl’s magic went haywire, and Harry raised his hand to his face to find ruddy ichor rubbing off onto his fingertips. It was working.

The curse demanded sacrifice.

And he was long past its dues. He was certain he could suppress it, he just needed a bit of time to focus, keep it in check until his daughters grew up—

When Daphne rushed forward to take Lily, the girl’s magic pushed her back. Accidental magic was ridiculously volatile, and not even Daphne, with all her experience as head of the DMLE, could break through whatever barrier the girl had created.

The house shook. Two voices cried out. Harry’s eyes moved to the door in fright. “Daphne! The door!”

She rushed towards it, opening the door to find Teddy and Astoria spying. They were crying, unable to accept what they were seeing. Harry knelt, holding his daughter tightly. His finger ran under her eye, wiping away tears.

“If history must be unwritten,” Harry declared, pulling Lily out of the cauldron, wisps of smoke following and pulling further at the edges of the curse, “then let it be unwritten.”

Harry knelt, sheltering Lily under his body. He could see Daphne wrapping her arms around Teddy and Astoria.

The cauldron exploded.

####

“Harry.” Teddy’s voice roused him from his sleep. He sounded desperate, his hands on Harry’s chest and shoving him. “Dad!”

Harry stood. Despite the haze and his unsure footing, he managed to stop himself from dropping Lily, who was lying on his chest. Astoria was lying next to him, and Daphne had somehow found herself leaning against the wall of the small bedroom.

The world came to a screeching halt.

This was not the ritual room.

In fact, this wasn’t any room at the Greengrass manor.

No, this was, in fact, the room that haunted him in the few nightmares that Voldemort stayed away from. The childhood that had been taken from him. Somehow he remembered it with less blood on the walls. Harry put Lily down onto the bed, looking at Teddy with wide eyes.

“What happened?” Harry asked. Teddy shrugged. “Okay, we can… figure out what happened later.”

Harry immediately checked everyone with all the diagnostic spells he knew. The fact that his wand had been lying under him when he’d woken up barely registered. Nobody was hurt, which meant the blood had to come from somewhere else. He cleaned it off them, moving towards Daphne. “Wake up Astoria.”

Teddy did as he was told, not being gentle at all as he slapped his sister awake. Daphne stirred when Harry touched her shoulder.

“Daphne,” Harry said, shaking her not unlike Teddy had done to him earlier. “Daphne, wake up.”

She did, with a start, just as he did. She jumped up, too fast, immediately swaying like an oak in the wind—but her wand was still out and her eyes had still already cased the room. He held onto her, keeping her up and letting her regain her bearings. Astoria was slower to get up.

“Something went wrong,” Harry said. Daphne paled, shoving Harry aside to check on Lily. The girl’s breathing was normal. Her health was fine, but… “The ritual didn’t work. She’s still cursed, but—”

“I could have sworn we’d burned this house to the ground, Potter,” Daphne said, her voice tight. She lifted Lily up, holding the girl tightly. “And if you can’t explain—”

A loud shout. An angry patter of feet. The door swung wide open to reveal Vernon Dursley, clearly just out of bed, red in the face.

He didn’t have time to say a word before two stunners hit him, Harry’s a second slower. He smiled at his wife. She glared at him.

“We’re in your childhood home, surrounded by unhealthy amounts of blood,” Daphne said. “And somehow your uncle has come back from the dead. So _please_ , Harry Potter. _Explain_.”

“I have no idea what happened,” Harry said, his fingers digging into his shirt. “But if I had to guess, I’d say Lily’s accidental magic turned back time by messing up the ritual, she’s—”

“Alive. I should’ve never let you do this, you irresponsible—”

Another angry shout. Harry grabbed Astoria and Teddy. Daphne nodded at him, holding onto Lily. With a crack, they were gone. Hedwig opened her cage, flying out of the window by the time Petunia had found her husband unconscious.

Later, when Ministry officials and Dumbledore appeared to ask the Dursleys what happened, Vernon gave one simple answer. A man with long black hair stood in the room, pointing a stick at him, surrounded by blood.

The bounty on Sirius Black’s head doubled in size that night.


	2. An Evening I'll Not Forget

###  #### Chapter 2: An Evening I’ll Not Forget

Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, of Greengrass Manor, were quite unhappy to say that they were entirely out of sorts.

The evening began as usual, with the exception of a joyful Astoria who had received her Hogwarts letter. Said girl was sure to mention it to anyone who would listen, and despite the fifth repeat of the same line, her elder sister Daphne was more than happy to give her a smile.

The problem started at dinner. Daphne had been looking ill for a while now, which was no surprise considering the rather strange news of their previous school year. A basilisk at Hogwarts? It seemed too far fetched, but he had never known his daughter to be a liar. This left two possibilities: Dumbledore was lying, or worse, he was telling the truth.

“Daphne,” he said. She looked up from the plate, the food forgotten. He blinked when he found a drop of blood under her nose. “Your nose is bleeding.”

His wife was by her side before he had finished speaking. Lucinda was sometimes just a bit too overbearing. Some might have compared her to Mrs. Weasley if they saw her in private, and it was to the continuous costernation of her daughters that she smothered them with her affection whenever she could.

More so than the lack of appetite and the bleeding nose, it was the fact that Daphne did not resist when her mother came to wipe the blood away which tipped him off that something was about to go wrong.

Daphne threw up blood. Astoria jumped out of her seat, crying out in fright when the pale red liquid spread over the table and ran down onto the carpet.

“Leonidas! Get a healer!” Lucinda ordered. The man stood at the floo within seconds, all but shouting the name of St. Mungos into the dark green fire as he ran through. He came back to the sound of wails.

Astoria was pale, shaking near the wall. Not quite in tears but close to it. Daphne’s pale form, stained in blood pouring from every orifice, was unmoving. No, unmoving was not accurate. She was dissolving. Bits and pieces of her skin were falling off, accelerated by the tight grip his wife had on her. He moved to Astoria, putting his arms around her to shield her from the view.

The girl started crying. He barely noticed when the two healers that had joined him approached them, casting spell after spell. It took a minute. Less than that.

Less than a minute, and the woman in healer robes cast a spell that conjured a pocket watch. A dictation quill appeared from her sleeve, writing on a piece of parchment. “Time of death—”

“No,” Lucinda croaked. Leonidas felt his stomach fall away. “No, _no_!”

“Cause of death,” the healer’s voice, so steady and used to it as she announced the time, broke into visible confusion and pity. “Malediction.”

“It wasn’t meant to take her!” Lucinda said. “Not her, not Daphne! It took the wrong—”

“Lucinda.” Leonidas’ arms tightened around Astoria, hopefully not piecing together the unspoken words from her mother.

It was something they had to get used to. The idea that no matter what they did, they would lose a daughter. Lucinda wasn’t wrong, the curse _wasn’t meant to take Daphne_.

It would take the youngest daughter of Greengrass blood. Not at thirteen, but between sixteen and thirty, give or take a year at most. So they had prepared themselves. They had doted on Astoria, given her all she ever desired, spoiled her rotten because they knew that they’d have to live with the sin of giving birth to someone they knew would die.

And now here she shook, alive.

Something was wrong.

The healer’s partner, a dark-skinned man in similar robes that held a distinct white colour, came up to him and handed him a pale blue potion. “Draught of peace. Two doses.”

He took it with shaking hands, not daring to turn around in fear of what he would see. Lucinda’s heaving sobs were cutting him to the bone. He took the cap off the vial and held it to Astoria’s mouth. She didn’t want to take it.

“Please,” he said softly. She hesitated, then took a large gulp. The effect was immediate. Her pale face flushed back into colour. Her eyes became slightly distant. When the shock of the scene broke away, all that was left was the shutdown. Astoria fell asleep.

A quick spell from the healer confirmed that she was fine.

“She’s gone, Leonidas,” Lucinda said. He could hear it in her voice. He felt the same. “Out.”

She stood suddenly, ignoring the tainted robes she was wearing, the blood of her daughter running over the front. She pointed at the healers.

“Out,” she ordered again. The man wanted to say something, but his partner stopped him. “If you can’t bring her back, out with you!”

They left within the minute. Leonidas stood, taking Astoria to her and Daphne’s bedroom…

They had more than enough space, but the sisters insisted on staying together. This had become especially true after Daphne went to Hogwarts, as she was only home for two months of the year. With Astoria tucked in, he took his own dose of the potion, making sure to keep a tiny amount for the inevitable conversation tomorrow.

His old potion’s professor once called the draught of peace ‘liquid courage’. Leonidas strongly disagreed. It was liquid apathy. Forced calmness. It felt distinctly wrong to calm down when one had every right to be upset. He raised his wand. A spell he had used over four-thousand times by now.

Astoria glowed white, not red. He exhaled through his nose.

At least they still had that.

“We wanted to wait until she was seventeen to tell them.” His wife’s sudden appearance behind him would have caused him to jump had it not been for the potion. “She… she died not knowing what was happening. We let her die.”

He hugged his wife. It felt cold and wet, the misery of his daughter’s blood on his robes.

“M-master Greeny!” Moppy shouted, appearing next to them. “You musts come to the doors! Guests!”

“We’re not expecting guests today, Moppy,” Leonidas said, his voice tight.

“But they says they know about Miss Daffy!”

He let go of Lucinda. She stepped into Astoria’s room as he left to get the door. He ran down the stairs, carefully catching himself before he tumbled down. He’d have those healers’ heads; not even ten minutes and they had the reporters on him? He’d show them.

Leonidas ripped the doors open with a swipe of his wand, snapping it back up as they slammed into the walls with a loud _crack_. The eldritch burn of Greek fire—the real kind, not the disgusting Muggle knock-off—dripped off the tip of his wand, ready and halfway to hunger. Oh, he’d show those vultures alright: show them the insides of their bloody bones.

It was the two young children, barely of Hogwarts age, that made him lower it. They made a frightened noise, burying their faces in their… father’s neck. Yes, there was no doubt there that was who the man was. But that young girl, she looked so familiar—

“My, my,” a familiar voice drawled. Slightly deeper than he was used to, but still recognizable. His gaze moved to the woman next to the man. Her hair, her eyes, those moles under her lip that he would recognize at any distance. A toddler sleeping in her arms. “Is that any way to greet your daughter?”

“What?”

It was all he could say. Leonidas’ grip on his wand slipped. He fell backwards, the draught of peace flushing out of his system when met with something nobody could stay calm about.

He spun around and ran as if death was chasing him. “Lucinda!”

Moppy appeared, vanishing the blood that had stained the carpet during the mad dash. “Is Miss Daffy staying for the night?”

Harry almost laughed. Unflappable house elves. He loved them all.

“We’re likely going to stay for a little longer,” Daphne said. “These are our children. Can you make sure they get to bed?”

Teddy and Astoria, despite their protests, were quite clearly tired. Even with his twelve years and assurances that he was ‘not a boy, but a young man’, Teddy could not resist when Moppy took him by the hand and led him to a guest room. Harry took Lily, following after him. Daphne was but a step behind them.

“I’ll talk to them,” Daphne said. Harry smiled. “It… felt unreal until I saw them.”

“Of course, it’s not every day we have another chance with our parents.”

“When my sister died, they… stopped functioning. I wasn’t surprised to hear they’d passed young, but—”

“I understand,” Harry said, looking down the hallway where Lucinda and Leonidas stood, looking at them in horror and hope. “Go to them. We’ll need to make peace with the idea of… being back.”

“It seems I’ll get to see your side of life then, you freeloader.”

Daphne ignored the show of immaturity in the form of a stuck out tongue and walked down the hall with the sort of casual, regal grace you only learned after twelve years of comportment lessons twice a week.

“I prefer stay-at-home dad!” Harry shouted.

She stumbled.

####

After the children were tucked in, Harry and Daphne found themselves at a table in the living room. The dining table was still… indisposed. And Lucinda had no desire to have this conversation anywhere near the place where her daughter had died.

It did not smell like home. It had the stench of desperation and blood. Of cosmic jokes and cruel mockery. Harry and Daphne sat, watching the expressions flash over Leonidas’ face. Dark, wide eyes, suddenly shut so strongly it looked painful; twitching corners of his lips, then the flaring of a hawkish nose.

Eventually the man, his… father-in -law, Harry realised, settled on a resigned frown.

“You’re time travelers.”

Leonidas’ accusation was met with a nod. The man blinked rapidly, unable to keep the question off his face. Harry tried to imagine himself in his father-in-law’s shoes. If Astoria and Lily had suddenly appeared in front of him, years older.

“What year is it?” Harry asked. He hadn’t bothered to check quite yet. Daphne looked around, grey eyes settling on a small yellow vase in the corner of the dining table which Harry could remember wasn’t a thing in the future.

“Nineteen ninety three. Our third year at Hogwarts,” she said confidently. He wasn’t sure what exactly she saw in the vase, but she sounded far too sure to just be guessing. “Astoria’s first year.”

“I’m not going back to school,” Harry whispered. Especially not this year. The next time he saw a Dementor… his eyes widened. “Sirius—”

“Not now,” Daphne said. Ever the voice of reason, she turned back to her parents. “I’m—”

While Leonidas had issues accepting the circumstances, despite his earlier statement, Lucinda had no such hesitation. The woman was already in front of his wife, one hand on her cheek. She checked every line, every mole. Her finger ran down a barely noticeable scar near Daphne’s ear.

She wasn’t the same girl who’d bled out in the dining room. The age showed—a sharper jaw, cornfield hair cut professionally short rather than kept long and indulgently girlish, a silvery splash of scar tissue on one side of her narrow neck that Lucinda’s fingers trembled to touch. But she had the sweetness of her mother’s lips, the boldness of her father’s nose and sun-kissed skin, and she’d grown fiercely into the arrogance Lucinda had seen touching her smiles just hours earlier. No: she wasn’t the same girl (nobody could ever be the same girl would ever be the same girl gone forever) but she was… she was the same woman.

“It’s her,” Lucinda announced with the confidence only a mother could show, clinging to the thought as if her spine would crumble without it. Leonidas’ shoulders sagged in relief. “But, I held you. You died in my arms, you—”

Daphne frowned, turning her head to meet Harry’s gaze. He nodded, certain that the same thing had happened at the Dursleys.

“Our daughter, Lily,” Daphne said. She tasted the words and enjoyed their sweetness before the bitter reality broke her joy beneath it. “She’s cursed.”

“This family will never know peace,” Lucinda said, wrapping her arms around Daphne. Harry suppressed a shudder. He heard those words before. Long ago, when he sat at the bedside of the same woman who now sat in front of him, younger, happier. Lucinda wiped a few strands of hair out of her daughter’s face. “I thought I had lost you.”

“We tried to save her,” Harry continued as he noticed Daphne’s discomfort. He waved his wand over them, vanishing the blood from the robes. Daphne’s silent ‘thank you’ was acknowledged with a nod. “A ritual; it would move the curse to me, leave them alone for one generation so that they had more time to… to find a cure, to do anything.”

Leonidas’ gaping mouth brought a wry grin to Harry’s face. He supposed that this would be a great argument for reacknowledging him as a son-in-law.

“Needless to say, accidental magic and rituals don’t mix well,” Harry continued, his eyes losing focus as he remembered the mess he’d created. The danger his children were in. “We woke up in my old bedroom, surrounded by puddles of blood. From the look of you, I imagine something similar happened here.”

“Daphne, she—” Leonidas tried to find the words. “The younger Daphne, she died. It was like the blood curse ran its course in the span of minutes rather than years. Her body vanished.”

“I… suppose it wasn’t all that unsuccessful, then,” Daphne said. Harry’s grin shifted into a deep frown. “The curse was redirected. Then it came back.”

“I killed us,” Harry said, his voice barely over a whisper, his hands clenched in shaking fists. He turned to Daphne, his words not reaching Leonidas, but he could see Lucinda’s grip on her daughter tighten. “I killed _you_.”

Daphne untangled herself from her mother to stretch an arm out and pinch his cheek harshly.

“No brooding, you only get to do that when Astoria marries.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, rubbing his cheek. “She’s never going to marry, she’ll stay with us forever, and if she does insist on marrying anyone I’ll just have Teddy do it.”

Daphne rolled her eyes.

“I… suppose not everything is bad,” Daphne said. Her own grip on her mother tightened. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. “There are things we can do here, things to help in the coming days. And Astoria, she… is fine?”

“The curse is gone,” Leonidas confirmed, his own head bowing towards Harry when the young man smiled.

“This is going to be confusing,” Harry muttered. Of course, his sister-in-law was fine now. He was still not going to stop his research, but he’d have to start from scratch, get into contact with the same people again, without any favours to draw upon this time around. Daphne’s look revealed her intimate knowledge of where his mind strayed. Her lips were drawn into a thin line.

“For once in your life, Harry Potter,” Daphne said, “relax.”

Harry nodded, crossing his arms and leaning into the chair. “Strange to hear that from you, Madam Potter.”

“Hmph.”

“We need a nickname with two Astorias running around.” Harry’s words made his father-in-law jump. Lucinda’s hug around her daughter tightened.

Leonidas took a deep breath. His head was swaying left to right. His dark eyes darkened further. “I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

Harry laughed. “You said the same thing when we told you Daphne was pregnant. You’ll never feel old enough, _father_.”

Leonidas hissed something that could have sounded like ‘half-blood bastard’ if Harry had listened more intently. “Gods above and the magic they gave us, of all the people in the world she had to marry _Harry Potter_.”

Harry didn’t deign to acknowledge the outburst. Lucinda’s disapproving stare towards her husband was enough to stop the man’s overflowing frustration.

“What are you going to do now?” Lucinda asked, her voice a murmur in her daughter’s shoulder. “It can’t be easy to leave everything behind. Is there a way home?”

The unasked question hung in the air. Harry shook his head.

“There’s a… list of priorities,” Harry said. If the ritual was repeated, there was no way to tell how things would go. The ingredients had to be prepared, too. The circumstances of the volatile accidental magic… “Things we’ll have to talk about, things that can wait, things I must do. My children must be safe. That’s what matters above all others.”

“Admirable as that is, you’re not exactly something the Ministry will want to deal with,” Leonidas said. He looked like he had swallowed something sour. “Our esteemed Minister is quite a sceptic regarding the more esoteric aspects of magic, I’m afraid. Time travel is not on the accepted curriculum.”

“We’re not going to deal with him anytime soon.” Harry waved the concerns off. “We’ve hit the ground running, things will be hectic for a while. If the Ministry somehow figures out what happened, we’ll deal with them. Until then it’s on the list of ‘things that can wait’.”

“What are the things you must do, then?” Leonidas watched the man in front of him with a harder gaze. Harry Potter didn’t look much younger than he was, but there was something about the curl of his shoulders and the twist of his mouth that made him seem startlingly young and terribly old by turns.

“I imagine if I told you, you’d not sleep well tonight,” Harry said. Leonidas shook his head frowning.

“That’s not your call to make, is it? Doesn’t it concern us all, as your… _family_?”

Harry knew it must have taken all the strength the man had left after this messy day to say the word. It came out as forced and unhappy. Harry could live with that. He could honour it.

“I greatly respect the man who has raised my wife,” Harry said, standing up. Leonidas looked up, raising an eyebrow at the display. “And I greatly loathe the coward who could not tell his daughter until her sister had died what would happen to our children.”

Leonidas stood up as well. Lucinda made a noise of fright and anger. Harry raised his hand, forcing Leonidas back into the seat without wand or incantation.

“However,” he continued without hesitation, his voice tense, his eyes closed. “You are not that man. You are a man who has not made the same mistakes. We are family, make no doubt about that. But if I had to prioritize the safety of my children above the safety of you and your wife, or even the safety of your young daughter sleeping off a nightmare, I would not hesitate to let you die to save them.”

Leonidas’ eyes moved to Daphne, whose soft smile did nothing to calm his nerves.

“He talks big,” Daphne said, nudging her mother slightly. The woman wasn’t moving much, her eyes half closed. “But when push comes to shove, he’ll try to find a way to save everyone. If he doesn’t want to tell you something, it’s for a reason.”

“Because if I told you the things I know,” Harry spoke up again, his eyes open now. “You would panic. You would ask around. You would push all the kinds of buttons that you must not push.”  
  


“You accuse me of indiscretion,” Leonidas said. He didn’t sound unhappy as much as frustrated. When a world of answers was in front of him and it refused to yield, he could not help but feel lost and confused. Harry understood.

“I accuse you of being human.”

“And you are not?”

“I’m a _father_ , just like you,” Harry said, thinking back to Bill. The man’s reaction would… not be kind when he heard that the ritual failed. If that future even existed at this point. Outside of the idea of traveling back in time and killing whoever cursed the Greengrass family, which would likely eliminate Daphne’s existence, he had never considered the possibility. “If you know that the knowledge you hold could harm your child, wouldn’t you keep your mouth shut? Wouldn’t you keep that secret?”

Leonidas stood again. Slower this time, walking around the table to stand in front of his son-in-law. Harry stood taller, but not by much. His beard was trimmed well, the scar on his face spoke of a haunted past, the ring on his finger spoke of wealth and power; he looked, a little, like the sort of man Leonidas had once wanted to be in his misspent youth, wild beneath the bright Athenian sun. The sort of man women called roguish and men called a lot of things—but never too loudly for fear that he might hear. It was an awkward realisation.

Leonidas raised his hand. Harry met it. An understanding, if not equal, at least mutual.

“Now we just need money.” Harry said, smiling at the man. Leonidas’ grip tightened painfully.

“We have the Potter vault,” Daphne said dryly. “Because you haven’t robbed Gringotts yet.”

“ _Yet_?” Leonidas asked, letting go of Harry’s hand. “You robbed _Gringotts_?”

“You say that like you’ve never had to rob the most secure bank in the wizarding world to save all of reality.”

Daphne sighed. “Please hold your tongue for just one day, Harry. You know this is as weird to them as it is to us.”

Harry looked like he wanted to say something else. Daphne did not hesitate at all to silence him with a spell. That was a mistake. The smug look he gave her was worse than anything he could have said. Her father’s face was in his hands. No doubt he’d need a while to get used to it—and if Daphne knew her husband, he’d make that while as obnoxious as it could be.

“I think that mother fell asleep,” Daphne said, looking down at the woman. Her breathing was rhythmic and calm. “We’ll need to make plans, but for now, we can just take a moment to catch ourselves, right?”

A soft hoot on the outside and the tapping on the window disagreed. Two owls jumped in when Moppy opened the window with a snap of his fingers. One of them flew to Harry, the other to Leonidas.

Leonidas didn’t open his letter, throwing it into the fireplace without hesitation. Harry could see the St. Mungos’ emblem on top of it.

His own letter was much more interesting, however.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_To one Edward Remus Lupin_

_The guest room at Greengrass Manor_

“I’ve always wondered if those were actually hand written and signed or automated,” Harry said, showing it to his wife. He had waved off the silencing spell. “I guess that answers the question.”

“If McGonagall ever finds out you’re telling people she’s skimping on her work, I’ll let her turn you into a toad.”

“We can talk more tomorrow,” Leonidas said. “Astoria will have to know you’re… alive.”

“No need to sound so hesitant, I’m pretty sure my heart is still beating,” Daphne said. Harry could tell by the tone of her voice that the prospect of talking to her sister again had her excited. She stood, lifting her mother with impressive ease. “I never thought I’d end up doing this, though. I will admit that’s strange.”

“You never carry me like that,” Harry said. “Not even with magic.”

“It’s unbecoming,” Daphne sniffed. “One must treat a lady like a lady, and a tramp like a tramp.”

“Even a tramp wants to be treated like a lady once in a while.”

“Enough,” Leonidas said, his voice faint. As if it had suddenly become real. As if the world that he knew had just then begun rebuilding itself into a semblance of _normal—_ and that normal apparently included his grown-up daughter flirting with her half-blood husband right in front of him.

She might not be thirteen. She might not be his baby girl. But she was Daphne.

Without a doubt, from her appearance to her sharp tongue, and most of all, to the love in her eyes when she saw her son’s Hogwarts letter.

She was real. He stepped forward, giving his daughter a hug before leaning back and taking his wife from her.

There was so much left to do. So much left to say.

Just—just not right now..

####

It was only when the door to the guest bedroom closed behind them that Daphne broke down. Her knees crumpled beneath her and she started crying thick, ugly tears, the sort that make people look away because they look uncomfortably real. Harry was there to catch her, and he refused to look away for a second.

He was certain that if he had the chance to meet his parents again, he would react the same way. Hell, if Sirius was still alive by the time they met this time around, he imagined it would not be too long until she would have to hold him just like this

“Now who’s brooding?” Harry asked softly, brushing a few errant blonde locks out of her eyes. Daphne choked out a giggle.

“I… want to see the silver lining here,” Daphne whispered. Harry nodded. “Somehow, against all kinds of laws, in the face of fate itself, you’ve… given them back to me.”

“No,” Harry said, rubbing her back. “If anyone deserves credit for this, it would be Lily’s accidental magic. She’ll be a powerful witch.”

“Your superpowered spawn will be the end of us.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’ll take the blame for Lily if you accept Astoria is your fault.”

She looked up at him. Her knees were still weak, and he took notice of the tiredness that spread in him as well. When she went on her tiptoes, he met her kiss and pulled her towards the bed. It didn’t take long for them to fall asleep.

####

Harry woke up to a weight on his stomach. Lily had found her way into the bed with them, jumping around in between them without making much noise until she slipped and fell on him. Daphne didn’t seem too happy with the rough awakening.

It was the sight of the other two Potter children that revealed what had happened. Teddy and Astoria must’ve woken up early, as usual, and ended up joining them. Clever little Lily ended up following her siblings.

“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Teddy asked, revealing himself. He was lying on the outer part of the bed, his back towards them, but his hair was dark like the sky after rain. Harry held onto Lily as he sat up. Astoria was also awake; her face was red, like she had been crying just minutes before.

“I’m afraid it’s not.” Harry confirmed. Daphne swung her arm towards them and pulled her children closer.

“So… Uncle Bill? Victoire?”

“I’m sure you will be able to meet Bill,” Harry said. “But Victoire, she’s…”

“Not born yet?” Teddy asked, his voice edging on disbelief and frustration. “Why?”

“Her parents haven’t met yet, I’m afr—”

“No,” Teddy said. He turned around, roughly climbing over Daphne to grab Harry by the neck of his wrinkled shirt. “Why did you _do this_? What were you doing with Lily yesterday?”  
  


Lily started to cry when she saw the look on her brother’s face. Teddy deflated. The look that Harry gave him, haunted by his own mistakes, caused Teddy to let go.

“I’ll explain at breakfast.” Harry looked over to Daphne, who was comforting Astoria. “When everyone is there, I’ll tell you everything. Moppy.”

The elf appeared, looking like Yule had come early. Harry resisted the urge to shake his head. That poor soul would have to learn the hard way what Teddy and Astoria would get up to. Lily, of course, was his precious and innocent child who was axiomatically incapable of doing anything wrong.

“Could you prepare some… a lot,” Harry corrected himself. “A lot of sweets. Anything you want, I want a table full until the children can’t eat anymore.”

“Just today I’m biting my cheek, Potter,” Daphne said. Astoria looked _slightly_ less upset. Teddy, who was still reeling from the idea of never meeting his friends again, moved out of bed with them. Lily grabbed Harry’s cheeks, blowing a raspberry at him.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I think so too.”

####

Awkward could not begin to describe the scene in front of him. If it was shifty eyes and concerned pokes at the breakfast pancakes that were overloaded with chocolate syrup, that would have been one thing.

Instead, he was watching in horror as his mother-in-law, Lucinda Greengrass, fed his daughter. Astoria, for her part, wasn’t enjoying it as much as she usually would when being pampered, if only because the woman in front of her was a stranger in all but name.

Of course she’d heard stories of her grandmummy who’d passed away when she was too young to remember. But she’d never even talked to her—Lucinda had died before Astoria had spoken her first word.

The older Astoria, Daphne’s sister, was sneaking glances at his wife. Whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, he found that her gaze focused on him.

“This was not meant to happen.”

All eyes turned to Harry. A streak of chocolate stained the younger Astoria’s cheek when her head turned away from Lucinda’s fork.

“I’d say we should start at the beginning, but there’s too many moving parts,” Harry continued, unable to stand the silence. “This wasn’t how I imagined telling my children, but…”

Daphne’s hand grasped his. He hadn’t even noticed that it was shaking. “I can do it.”

“No,” Harry said. His eyes turned to the older Astoria, then to Leonidas. The man nodded, understanding his silent plight. “Our daughter suffers from the same condition as yours. Lily is blood cursed.”

Lucinda dropped the fork, her hands moving to her mouth in abject horror. She had been tired last night, barely there, but the look in her eyes made it clear to Harry just where her thoughts went. That her daughter’s cure was the life of another young girl.

The Astorias, both of them, looked confused. Teddy choked on air, his hair turning into a pale green like bile.

“She _what_?” he gasped out, looking at the toddler with wide eyes. Lily, too amused by the noises he was making and the change in his appearance to be concerned, clapped.

“What’s a blood curse?” Astoria, the older, asked. Lucinda shook her head. Astoria just grew more curious. “What?”

“It’s a… terrifying condition, passed on by blood as the name implies,” Leonidas explained, noticing Harry’s trouble verbalizing. “It manifests differently in every cursed family. In the Greengrass family, it’s… the youngest daughter. When it triggers, the child dies.”  
  


“But I’m younger than Daphne!” Astoria cried out, standing up. “She—why did she—”

Harry raised his hand. Astoria-the-elder glared at him. Astoria-the-younger glared at her aunt, at least until the words of her grandfather sunk in and she realized why Teddy had reacted so strongly.

Teddy’s head sunk into his hands. Harry would have to find out later how the boy knew about the term. It was not something people spoke about in polite company, after all. Or at Hogwarts to an eleven year old.

“I had a ritual prepared,” Harry said. “The work of countless hours of research. Something to cure her. Something went wrong. Accidental magic, or perhaps contamination of the ritual room due to… circumstances—”

Teddy’s eyes peeked out between his fingers. Harry shook his head at the silent question. It wasn’t any of his children’s _fault_. Harry was the one who hadn’t planned for everything he should have.

“Regardless,” Harry said. “It caused us to end up here and now, seventeen or so years before our time. Time is… volatile. It didn’t accept two of the same soul to exist, if I had to guess it was the second Malkin-Cudbert law on magical transportation…”

“I don’t think that book has been published yet,” Daphne supplied when she noticed her father’s blank stare. Lucinda had gathered herself again, but her attempts to feed the younger Astoria did not continue. “It removed the younger elements and replaced them with us.”

“So you’re really, really Daphne?” Astoria asked. The doubt that laced her voice caused Daphne’s expression to shift.

“Of course,” his daughter announced, ready to defend her mother. “Mum is mum, what kind of question is that?”

“You shut up you—”

“Auntie Astoria,” Teddy said. Both Astorias turned to him, the older raising an eyebrow in the way that only her family could. Teddy turned to Daphne. “That’s her?”

Daphne nodded. She turned to her sister. “I’ve missed you, dear sister.”

“Did… did I die?”

“Before your niece was born,” Daphne said, pointing at the smaller Astoria, who blinked her bright green eyes as her mother tapped her on the nose. “We named her after you.”

“You’re cured,” Leonidas said quickly. “I checked, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, perhaps it is because of the ritual’s unintended side effects, but—”

“When were you going to tell me?” Astoria asked. “Because if I remember mother’s words from last night, I was supposed to die. I’d have liked it if someone had told me that I was going—that I was going to die.”

“Never,” Lucinda said.

“When you were of age,” Leonidas said, at the same time.

Astoria glared at her mother.

“This is going to be confusing,” Teddy said. “Auntie Astoria Greengrass and Astoria Lyra Potter. I thought I was going to go mad with just _one_ around.”  
  


Harry chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. The worries, the headaches, the knowledge that while his daughter was not cured—not _yet_ , for he _would_ find a way one day—it saved Astoria’s life… he could live with that.

“How about Atty, then,” Daphne supplied helpfully. The older Astoria slapped Teddy’s arm for his comment. The younger one just… shrugged.

She rarely conceded anything, but right now she seemed too busy digesting what she was hearing to fight. She was probably doing a better job of it than Harry would have at her age—if not for her tantrums, you could mistake her for a particularly short teenager. Thinking back to _his_ teenage years, maybe even with the tantrums.

“Atty it is,” Harry said. Lucinda sighed, standing up.

“We’ll need to get you some proper clothes, I have a few old things from Daphne and Astoria around, but for young Teddy—”

“... How old was my daughter when you got her pregnant, Potter?” Leonidas spoke up suddenly, looking between Teddy and Harry.

“I think that’s my concern,” Daphne said without batting an eye. “For what it’s worth, Teddy is Harry’s godson. His parents are—”

Teddy fell out of his chair. Lily laughed at the scene. The realization was just one of many, but they had built up into a crescendo of ridiculousness.

“Alive,” Teddy ended the sentence for himself. Harry summoned the Hogwarts letter from last night, handing it to him. Teddy looked down at it and then up, frowning. “I’m… despite all this, I’m going to Hogwarts?”

“You’re not going to skip school just because your father broke all kinds of laws of magic,” Harry said, trying and failing to keep a grin from his face. “However, you’re going to have to make a decision. I’m not going to run around telling anyone we’re time travelers, and I’d hope you do the same. But I won’t stop you from going to school with his name, just as I didn’t stop you in first year.”

“He’ll be there?” Teddy asked, his hair changing colours until it settled on a firm black. Oh, the hope in his voice, the meek and beautiful hope.

“He’ll be a teacher this year,” Harry said. Lucinda and Leonidas looked confused.

“Atty,” Daphne said. “Please take Lily and help her wash her face.”

Atty nodded, moving off her chair and taking Lily by the hand when Harry put the toddler down.

“I’ll go,” Teddy said. “But… I have no school stuff. I’ve only got my wand!”

“We’ll have to visit the Alley anyway,” Harry said. “A few disguises might be good, though the goblins won’t care as long as we’re liquid and I’m definitely that, at least.”  
  


“You don’t have to spend a knut,” Lucinda said. Leonidas made an affirmative noise. “We’ll take care of it. You’re our family.”

“We’re already staying here—this is nothing compared to what you’ve already offered us.” Harry looked down at his clothes. “I would appreciate a new shirt, however. I feel like I’ve been in this for far too long, and I’m afraid I have no replacement.”

An owl knocked on the window. A wave of his wand saw it enter, offering him a newspaper for the spare change he had in his pockets.

Harry looked over the page, Daphne peering at it from the side.

“Well,” Harry said. “I’m afraid that takes care of that.”

He held it up for others to read. Teddy raised an eyebrow.

“Sirius Black’s Carnage Continues?” he asked. “Wasn’t Sirius a good guy? Why does it say he killed you?”

“My, do I have a story for you about this year,” Harry said. “It involves Dementors, beautiful memories, rats and dogs—”

“Wouldn’t it be cats and dogs?”  
  


“It’ll make sense,” Harry promised. “I’m also sure that is the year in which the ice cold Slytherin queen bee fell in love with the handsome—”

Daphne jabbed her fingers into his side. Harry coughed the last word, giving Teddy a thumbs up.

“Don’t let him tell you anything weird,” Daphne warned. “We didn’t speak a word to each other until our sixth year at Hogwarts.”


	3. Movement

###  #### Chapter 3: Movement

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, of the Burrow, were quite miserable to say that they were mourning the loss of a son.

News had come in the dead of the night. Their vacation was cut short. Of course they were concerned for Harry when they heard that Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban, but Dumbledore had assured them that the boy was safe and they should enjoy their trip to Egypt.

But when the next paper followed, they couldn’t keep pretending that things were fine.

_Sirius Black’s Carnage Continues_

The image on the front page was terrifying. It was the room in which Harry Potter had lived, confirmed by Fred and George.

It was drenched in blood. Harry was officially missing, and unofficially already declared dead. _According to a Healer at St. Mungo’s, the amount of blood that had spread over the room was of a volume that could only be achieved by blood replenishing potions being used, indicating that the boy had been tortured and bled out over a long period of time._

However, even blood replenishing potions had limits. Taking too many in too short periods of time caused arrhythmia. That monster had not been content just to kill him, it seemed—he’d wanted to make it _hurt_.

Ron and Ginny were sitting next to each other, the boy’s arm around his sister after she had cried herself to sleep. Arthur was pale, occasionally picking up the paper and putting it down again after a short glance.

Someone was at the door. Two short, sharp knocks made Molly step away from the still full cup of tea and open it. Dumbledore looked like death had walked over him. His skin was pale, and the deep shadows under his eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. He was _trembling_.

“Professor,” Molly said quietly. “Please, come in.”

He did, nodding in appreciation. She knew it was easy to blame him. She understood that if she pointed her finger at him and told him ‘I told you so’, he would lower his head in shame and accept it. She did not do so.

Arthur greeted the man with a diminutive ‘hello’, his voice barely over a hoarse whisper. They… could not say that they had known their son’s best friend for a long time, not the version of him that actually ate at their table. The one that had Ginny lost her breath over when she noticed him sitting there. The kind young man who had saved their daughter.

“I apologize for my late and disheveled appearance,” Dumbledore said. His eyes lingered on Ron and Ginny, the former who could not bring himself to say a word in the face of his headmaster. “It was a rather… eventful night. It seems that we’ve lost more than just young Harry.”

Molly looked alarmed. Dumbledore raised his hand quickly.

  
“Not by Sirius’ hand, no,” Dumbledore said. “But tragic nonetheless. You’ll likely find out in the afternoon paper. The Greengrass heiress passed away during dinner with her family last night. To have to bury two students so quickly, I—”

“Might he not be still alive?” Molly asked. She didn’t want to be hopeful. She didn’t want to feel that disappointment again, but something in her had to ask. Had to be _sure_.

Dumbledore’s downcast eyes were all the answer she needed.

“I’m sorry,” Molly said. It must have felt like two funerals to him. Dumbledore was a compassionate man, too compassionate for some people. ‘Lover of all things Muggle’ was a title that he and her husband shared among the wrong crowd in the Ministry. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have said that.”

To him, losing Harry was a stab in the heart. But he was not only Harry’s headmaster, after all.

“I was going to visit the family later, but the Ministry is in disarray. People are looking for someone to blame.” Dumbledore’s voice betrayed his disdain. There were no kind words for him left to say. “Minister Fudge insisted on a… protective detail of Dementors at Hogwarts.”

Arthur stood. “They wouldn’t!”

“And they won’t.” Dumbledore nodded. Ron was Harry’s friend, which made it hard for him to continue, but he could not just keep this from the boy. “The Minister’s idea fell through when the target of said protective detail was… declared dead. His opponents are eating him alive; we might have elections soon.”

Arthur nodded, understanding what this could mean for him. “Thank you.”

“Do not thank me. I don’t deserve it.”

Dumbledore took a deep breath.

“Mr. Weasley,” he said, looking towards Ron. The boy acknowledged him with a blink. “I understand that you have lost a dear friend. If you have any troubles at school, please rely on your house-mates and Professor McGonagall. You and your sister are always welcome to come visit me for a cup of tea.”

Ron nodded, his expression blank. He looked—he looked like Arthur sometimes had, back in the war, his eyes a blue as empty and distant as the sky.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley.” Dumbledore turned around to meet Molly’s gaze. “There are busy days ahead. The Ministry will take some time to sort through their own issues and I will need to be there. Do you still have Harry’s key?”

Molly nodded, grabbing it from a cupboard and handing it to him.

“As he has no will, the goblins might seize the Potter vaults,” Dumbledore said. Molly looked outraged. Arthur nodded, knowing where it would lead. “I’ll look into what I can do to stop them, but it won’t change the fact that the money inside those vaults has nowhere to go. I’m sure Harry would—”

“No,” Molly said firmly. Without hesitation. Arthur nodded again. “Not one knut. If you are thinking about doing anything with it, set up a charity under his name. Make the lives of those who need it better.”

Dumbledore nodded, pocketing the key. “The funeral is planned to be held on the Hogwarts grounds. Despite the… circumstances, until the Ministry sorts itself out we will not be able to lay him to rest in Godric’s Hollow. I will send you a letter with the details once we have decided on a time.”

Molly wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes. Of course, professor. Thank you.”

Dumbledore nodded, vanishing through the door. With a crack, he was gone.

####

Hermione Granger was not having a good day. Hedwig had arrived the night prior, without any letters and refusing to take any to Harry. The answer came in the early morning hours, when a letter from Professor McGonagall arrived in shaky handwriting.

_It is with great regret that I have to inform you that—_

A splash of ink. A messy scrawl.

 _Your friend, Harry Potter, passed away last night_.

She shook, crying, the breakfast her mother had prepared forgotten on the table. Mrs. Granger was by her side, an arm around her, a soft gasp when she saw the content of the letter that was so tightly held that it might rip at any moment.

“ _Murdered_ ,” Hermione cried. “Just like that, one day he was home and—”

Her voice broke. Her mother’s hugs were warm, but right now she could feel nothing but the chill that touched her skin when she was petrified. Harry was the only reason she’d felt the need to stick around after that horrible first year. As much as she wanted to learn magic, without friends, there was nothing for her there.

Ron was… probably not going to take this news any better.

“Hedwig!” Hermione shouted. The owl fluttered down the stairs on white-feathered wings. Her mother had long since given up trying to understand what the magicals did, so when the owl settled down on her daughter’s plate and happily devoured what was left of it, she just took a step away. “I need to write Professor McGonagall. I don’t want to hear a no!”

The owl hooted.

“Did… you know?” Hermione said. “Is that why you’re here?”

The owl hooted again, this time in a distinctly forlorn way.

Hermione stood quickly, hitting a table leg with her knee. She hissed in pain and jumped on one foot towards the stairs, looking for parchment.

There was no way he had just died. Not Harry. Not because of some random murderer. She’d find out what really happened, even if she had to beg for it from her head of house.

Hedwig and Mrs. Granger looked at each other. Hedwig’s stare at the empty plate made her sigh. “Half a plate.”

The owl bobbed its head in appreciation.

She snuck another glance at the forgotten letter. The details were obviously left out, which made sense considering the word ‘murder’. She worried. If Hermione had just broken down and grieved, as was normal for a thirteen, almost fourteen year old girl, she could put that worry aside. But she’d looked as determined as she’d looked horrified and that was—it was like she was treating Harry Potter’s death as a _problem to be solved._

Perhaps Mrs. Granger should write a letter as well. Hedwig owed her.

####

Mrs. Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, was terribly confused to say that she had no idea what was going on. The news about her cousin’s escape from Azkaban had put Lucius on edge, the usual smug and composed air that he held around him was gone and replaced by an indescribable terror.

But this morning?

This morning she could understand it.

Her husband was a murderer and terrorist. He was also a free man, having claimed and bribed his way into an Imperius defence in court and been left well alone. It had never been a problem before now.

But the Death Eaters had two kinds of people after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished.

The cowards and the zealots.

The cowards, like her husband, who hid their frail loyalty behind money or plea bargains.

The zealots, who would rather die—or rot away in Azkaban, which most thought an even worse fate—than claim they were not dedicated to their Lord.

And Sirius Black, betrayer of James and Lily Potter, _murderer of the Boy-Who-Lived—_ he could be nothing else but a zealot. Worse than that, he was also a free man. Sirius might come for Lucius. It was almost funny, poetic really. She would have thought it would be Bellatrix who’d cut her husband’s throat one day.

(Narcissa would kill her for it, of course she would, but she wouldn’t have been able to _stop_ her).

So while Lucius was rushing around in a panic, frantically sending letters to his many contacts...

Draco was _unhappy_. Or confused. Narcissa could not say which; her son’s face was a mixture of horrific shock and anger. She knew he did not get along with the Potter boy, his letters to his father said as much, and his resentment had only grown when the news about the basilisk broke.

Her son, magics bless his soul, had always been an average student, who’d often relied on his father’s influence to take care of matters. It had been Harry Potter who’d driven him to strive beyond. His classwork had improved to the point where Severus had written her to ask if they had had a talk with him.

And now Harry Potter was gone, and the reason for Draco to push himself had gone with him. She looked out of the room, Lucius was leaving the manor with hasty steps. Draco was pretending to read a book.

“Do you want to go to the funeral?” Narcissa asked.

Draco opened his mouth, sneering for a moment. No voice came out. She let him gather his thoughts, knowing when to avoid pushing from her own years with her sisters.

“I shouldn’t,” Draco said after a while. “We weren’t friends.”

“It’s not about being friends, it’s about showing solidarity with the rest of the school. Your father will likely be there, but I won’t force you to go.”

And there it was. That change she was observing. Yesterday the idea of going to some event with Lucius would have had Draco jump out of his seat to get ready. Now he was thinking. Deliberate considering.

“I’ll go,” he said, looking at his robes. “As a student, in uniform. That’s proper, right?”

Narcissa nodded.

“There’s… more.” She was hesitant to continue. His eyebrows were furrowing, confusion freely displaying on his features. “Someone else passed away yesterday, another classmate of yours. Daphne Greengrass.”

Draco blinked. “How? She looked fine when I last saw her—did Black, did Black also kill her?”

“No, my… friend at St. Mungos told me she was suffering from a blood curse,” Narcissa said, sounding disturbed. Draco’s sharp intake of breath revealed his own knowledge of the term. “Her parents haven’t made it public yet, but at this pace, there's a good chance people will find out in a few hours. Your headmaster might approach them and schedule the funerals together.”

Draco knew the Greengrass heiress, of course. There were few pureblood heirs who didn’t know each other; even when their parents were not friendly, they often met during birthdays as an excuse for their parents to have… talks.

She knew he wasn’t close to her, as a quick call to Severus had confirmed, which was why she wasn’t unwilling to tell him about her death. He just looked more confused than ever.

“Your godfather will visit them soon, to pay his respects,” Narcissa continued. “Do you want to go with him?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “We… weren’t friends either. I don’t have a lot of friends.” The last part of his sentence was mumbled.

“Her sister,” Draco said, looking up. “She’s going to be a first year?”

“Unless her parents decide not to send her.”

“Good. I mean, of course, yes,” Draco muttered. “Thank you, mother. For telling me.”

####

The trip to Diagon Alley brought back a solid nostalgia. The once bustling streets looked like they were preparing for a funeral.

Which they might be. If he wasn’t certain that someone would see through his disguise, he’d consider visiting his own funeral. Daphne was holding onto his arm as they walked down the street towards Gringotts. People didn’t pay much attention to them; the clothes they had picked out were plain, and though Daphne’s beauty would ordinarily cause heads to turn, a simple illusion over them made it hard for people to focus on their features.

They’d left their children at the manor for now. Once he had confirmed his finances, they could come back at another time to gather all the Hogwarts books they’d need.

The doors of the bank were, as always, terrifying and enormous. Harry led Daphne up the marble stairs and towards the large teller room, the ceiling high and arched and gilt with riches and history both. Fortunately, it was also largely empty. Harry stepped up to one of the empty desks and leaned forward.

“I would like some privacy,” Harry said. The small creature sneered up at him with its narrow teeth.

“And who might you be?”

Harry put his hand flat on the table and raised it slowly. Gold appeared in a small pile.

“A concerned party, who needs just a bit of peace and quiet.”

Daphne had drilled it into him years ago, when they had tried to forbid her entry due to being his wife. The goblins respected two things: power and gold. It was not the coins that the goblin was focusing on, however. It was the ring on his middle finger, one that Daphne had specifically requested from a goldsmith.

Purebloods _loved_ posturing. They enjoyed it almost as much as casual racism. In the aftermath of Voldemort, Harry had become a pillar of the community, and the motion to accept his name as a ‘noble’ family had passed without opposition.

“That’s a bold name in these trying times,” the goblin said, slightly less rude, but nonetheless caustic. “Are you certain you wish to carry on this kind of… talk?”

“Say, goblin,” Daphne said. “If you are unable to accept our generous offer, perhaps it would be more prudent to tell your superiors that the Greengrass family will seek their business elsewhere.”

That made the goblin flinch. He saw the woman’s own ring. They were status symbols, they could not be forged, for any goblin would see through a forgery in seconds. It was genuine, as was the _Potter_ ring of all things, even though they’d never registered one with the bank!

“Very well,” the goblin stood. “Room Two-Five on the right. I will have someone join you momentarily.”

“You’re too kind,” Harry said flatly, watching as the goblin pocketed the coins. “At this point I’m wondering why I didn’t just bribe them to give me Bellatrix’s vault key.”

“Because you’re an idiot, dear,” Daphne said, patting his cheek. The goblin pretended not to hear them. He’d had enough of wizards for today.

####

The goblin in front of them looked nice enough. He had joined them after only two minutes of waiting and looked at them with the least condescending smile that a goblin could muster.

Daphne’s unkind whisper about Umbridge made him bite his tongue, lest he insult the goblin by laughing.

“You seem to find something amusing,” the goblin said. “Trying to cash in on the inheritance of a… hero,” the goblin’s face twisted into something resembling admiration and disgust, “you’ll regret it.”

“Say, teller...”

“Brungus.”

“Teller Brungus,” Harry said, letting the illusion over his and Daphne’s faces wash away. “Do you believe in time travel?”

Brungus’ eyes widened. “That explains the ring.”

“The ring?” Harry asked.

“One of mine,” Brungus said. “I am a Goldsmith Master, though you’ll find my services adequate for general banking minutiae as well.”

“Ah,” Harry said. He had no idea where Daphne got the ring, but he wasn’t going to tell her no when she insisted he wore it to every invitation they had received. “Yes, the rumours of my death have been… I wouldn’t say exaggerated. I certainly did leave quite a mess in that room. Did you know people had that much blood?”

“They don’t,” Daphne supplied helpfully. “Then again, most people don’t travel through time.”

Brungus took a seat at the large desk, with a slightly taller than normal chair to peer over it. “I’m guessing you want to sort out the legalities. Quietly.”

“If not quietly, then at least with the least amount of noise possible,” Harry said. “I am not going to tell everyone I am alive. There are certain… things I can do in hiding. I understand Gringotts values confidentiality.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter. And… Mrs. Potter?”

Daphne nodded, giving the goblin a smile that would have made Lucius Malfoy cower. “Unfortunately, it seems that our wills were not sent back with us. We wish to create a new one.”

“Of course, we will have the notary down in a minute unless you wish to have your own lawyer handle this.”

Daphne shook her head, turning to Harry.

“I have… information,” Harry said, tasting the word with disdain. “Investments that will pay off within three years, six years, and ten years that will allow Gringotts to have a leg up the Ministry when their legislators are being paid off.”

“I trust you wish for us to do something for you in exchange.” Brungus grinned.

“There is an object of foul magic in a vault here, belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange, who is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban. I want it so I can destroy it.”

“As you say, Mr. Potter, there is a certain trust in our bank,” the goblin said. “If you wish for me to do this, you understand that if anyone exceeds your offer, we will be more than willing to share information about you. Fair is fair, after all.”

“I’m uncertain about the exchange rates this year,” Harry said. “But I remember the numbers. The company I suggest would increase its value by fourteen million pounds in three years.”

“Around two-point-eight million galleons,” Brungus supplied. Harry met his grin as his hand reached out. “I think we have a deal, Mr. Potter.”

“Please, Master Brungus,” Harry said, shaking the goblin’s hand. “I think we’ll see each other often enough. Call me Harry.”


	4. If I die young

### #### Chapter 4: If I Die Young

Harry Potter had a simple list of priorities. Above all else stood his family. In these volatile times, revealing himself alive would paint a massive target on his back, and anyone who found out about his children would target them to get to him.

That mustn’t happen. The confidentiality between him and the goblins was conditional, and that condition would depend on mutual benefit. Once the goblins stopped earning money, they would blow the whistle.

Which was why he went home with his head held high. He had made sure that no matter what happened to him in the future, his children would be taken care of. The goblins would not dare to blow this kind of whistle, not until Harry had enough time to keep the coast clear.

Astoria, who had finally gotten used to the idea that the sister she had seen dying was actually still alive, if older, was chatting with Daphne the second they came through the door. Something seemed off about her, her eyes were unfocused and red, but Daphne pretended not to notice.

Teddy and Atty were eating lunch, the former trying and failing to stop Lily from knocking half of the table onto the ground. Moppy was running around the table, gray ears flopping as she picked up everything and snapped it back onto the table with magic. Lily, of course, just saw it as an invitation to go at it again.

Molly had once asked him why Lily was so… quiet. Most children her age would have spoken a few words by now. Harry didn’t know. All children had their own pace after all. It was not that she lacked expression, because Lily wore her heart on her sleeve. You could see clearly what made her happy and sad, and she rarely cried unless the people around her were upset.

Daphne had joked that she might be a natural legilimens. Harry wasn’t certain if it was a joke anymore, but until she felt ready to talk and grew up well enough to verbalize what she was feeling, he could not say for sure.

It would certainly explain why she found everyone so easily whenever her siblings tried to hide from her.

Atty was… as well as a ten year old could be after hearing her sister was suffering from a terminal illness. She was too proud to admit it, but it was obvious with the way she jumped whenever it looked like Lily might fall out of her chair that she worried just a bit too much.

“Daphne, Mr. P… Harry,” Leonidas called out. “We’ve received a letter from Professor Snape of Hogwarts. He’s asked if he could come by soon, as Daphne was part of his House.”

Harry coughed. As much as he appreciated what Snape had done towards the end of the war, it was difficult to deal with the man, whether in memory or in life. Looking towards Daphne, who had begun brushing her sister’s hair sometime during their conversation, his eyes asked the unsaid question. She gave him a shrug, hesitating slightly when Astoria shrunk into herself before continuing.

She was out of a job and deserved her vacation, that shrug said.

He groaned. Of course she’d make him decide.

“I don’t think you have much reason to deny him a chance to talk to you,” Harry said. “Of course, it’d be problematic if he were to see us, and your wife might… not be able to play the grieving mother as well as we’d need to fool a master Legilimens like him.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Leonidas said, looking like he had swallowed something sour and nodding towards Lucinda who was preparing something in the kitchen. “Lucinda is a great actress if she needs to be.”

“If you say so.” Harry looked at Teddy. “He’s decided he wants to be a Lupin through and through. I know I can trust him not to say too much, so maybe…”

“You want to ease the professors into the idea that Mr. Lupin has a son?” Leonidas asked. Harry nodded. “Telling Snape would be… ill-advised. From what I remember of the stories of Lucinda’s school days, he and Mr. Lupin did not get along well.”

“Which is why it’s ideal,” Harry said. “Because the man is incapable of being objective, he’ll not look into the matter too deeply. He’ll take it at face value, that Lupin had a lover in the past the man never remembered—”

“That’ll ruin his reputation.”

Harry waved him off. “Not any more than being a werewolf.”

Leonidas blinked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “A werewolf? As a Hogwarts professor?”

“He was the best professor we had in all our years at school,” Daphne said, coming to Harry’s aid. “Worry not, Mr. Lupin is a good man. A coward”—Harry flinched—“but a good man.”

It was fortunate that Teddy was busy with Lily. Though Daphne had no high opinion of Remus Lupin, who had left a child behind to die, a child she had raised as her own, she was usually able to put it aside to make sure Teddy didn’t hear anything bad about him.

It did not bode well to speak ill of the dead, after all.

“I’ll trust your words, then.” Leonidas’ shoulders sagged. “Might it be prudent to ask Snape to take Teddy to Diagon Alley, then? It may be easier to keep hidden for a bit.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. He hummed. “There might be a question about funeral arrangements.”

“We’ve decided to request a burial on Hogwarts grounds,” Leonidas said. He bit his lip, his dark hair swaying slightly as he bowed his head. “We… understand that even if we have not lost Daphne completely, a part of her that was with us died. That is something we wish to pay respects to.”

“Understandable,” Daphne said. Astoria had stiffened at the reminder, her face going slightly green. Daphne’s arm wrapped around her in comfort. “Funny, we’ll end up buried next to each other far earlier than I thought possible.”

“Must you always be so… macabre?” Harry asked. Daphne smiled that brilliant smile at him. He sighed. “We’ll ask Teddy his opinion on going with Snape. I’ve considered letting Atty get her wand a bit earlier than normal, considering the circumstances. I would prefer she had something to defend herself with.”

“I don’t disagree,” Daphne said. Her eyes moved to Moppy, who was cleaning up the dining table. “You’ll regret it, though.”

“I know I will,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “This is what I get for not being strict, huh?”

“You’re a big softy, Harry. You couldn’t be strict with a disobedient house elf.”

Harry set his face into his best impression of a Malfoy. Like a streak of shit had attached itself under his nose. “Do not be so certain of that, Lady Greengrass.”

Leonidas coughed at the awkward… flirting? Harry wasn’t sure what he’d call it. For some reason, Daphne enjoyed it when Harry moved away from casually domestic into more… formal behaviour. Hermione had once explained it as ‘the gap’. He had no idea what the hell she was talking about, so he’d just nodded until she left him alone.

Astoria just shook her head. “I don’t understand how you ended up married.”

“He’s rich and good looking,” Daphne whispered into her ear, making Astoria giggle. Harry crossed his arms. “And a few other things I will tell you about when you’re older.”

“You will not—” Leonidas’ voice rose for a moment. He caught himself, taking a deep breath before leveling his gaze sternly at his eldest daughter. “No.”

Lucinda, who had finished her preparation of various sweets that looked every bit as unhealthy as they were tasty, left the distracted and gluttonous kids at the table. He wouldn’t be able to keep distracting them with sugar, but until it stopped working…

“What are we talking about?” Lucinda asked.

“Not until she is twenty! No, thirty!” Leonidas said, pointing at Daphne. The fact that his daughter was around his age now did nothing to deter him from pushing every bit of ‘father’ he had in him into the command.

“Ah.” Lucinda nodded in understanding. “Come now, dear. We’ll have to write Professor Snape a letter.”

Harry could’ve sworn he heard an upset wail that might have sounded like ‘my baby’ while Leonidas was dragged out by his wife. The children raised their heads at the scene. It was quite cute the way Teddy’s hair had shifted to match Atty’s. He probably hadn’t even noticed.

“Teddy,” Harry called. “Come here, we have something to discuss.”

Teddy nodded, moving off the chair and joining them on the couch. Atty took his plate with half a piece of cake still left on it. Clever girl. Wicked, but clever.

“A Hogwarts professor is coming to check on Daphne’s parents,” Harry explained. “His name is Severus Snape. We’ll have to put a believable story together and it might help if he could meet you already.”

“Can’t I just do this?” Teddy said, his features shifting into what a brother of the Greengrass sisters might look like. “Say I’m a cousin, perhaps.”

“That’ll only work until you go to Hogwarts.” Harry shook his head. “No, I was thinking something in the direction of saying your mother was a distant relative of Leonidas and your father, Mr. Lupin, did not know she was pregnant when they broke up.”

“Did he ever have a girlfriend like that?”

“That’s not the point,” Daphne said. “The point is that Snape has to believe you, and by the rest of the Hogwarts’ staff when he shared the story with them as he inevitably will.”

“And… paint Rem—I mean, uh, Dad as a deadbeat? Someone who left his family?”

“No,” Harry said.

“Yes,” Daphne said, at the same time. Astoria snorted.

“I guess I can see now,” the younger Greengrass sister muttered. “Just accept it, at this point I’ve learned that once parents think they know better, they’re not going to ignore it.”

“Sure, whatever,” Teddy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I just tell him that? What if he keeps asking questions?”

“He won’t,” Harry said. Daphne nodded. “That’s just not the kind of person he is. He’ll judge you from the first moment you open your mouth. Before, even.”

“You didn’t say any of that when you talked about him in the past.”

“He was dead then,” Daphne said with a shrug. “He’s alive now. You can say bad things about living people. It’s practically a national tradition.”

Teddy rolled his eyes, mirroring Harry’s own reaction.

“Either way,” Harry said. “As we have a mock funeral to consider, and hiding with three children is difficult, we thought we’d ask if you wanted to go with him and maybe Astoria to Diagon Alley and get your stuff for the school year, or if you’d rather go with us.”

“Does it matter?” Teddy asked, his voice tense. “I’m not going to meet anyone I know anyway.”

Harry frowned. He knew Teddy was not quite as fine with the circumstances as he tried to pretend he was, but if he was just bottling it up instead of airing his grievances, he might explode. “As I told you last year when I explained everything about your father and how you came to live with us, I’ll _never_ take your choices away from you, Teddy.”

“Great,” Teddy said, his hair shifting to red. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lily’s face scrunch up, her cheeks turning red and tears gathering in her eyes as the atmosphere grew uncomfortable. Atty rushed to her side, picking up a tiny toy broom and waving it in front of her. “But you took my choices away already. We aren’t supposed to be here.”

Atty picked up Lily and slowly carried her over to the couch, unable to stop the girl from crying.

“Yes,” Harry said, wiping at his eyes. Astoria looked put off at being in the middle of what seemed like a family affair, but the comfort of her sister made it easier to bear. “After my childhood, I told myself I wouldn’t let anyone force my children to do anything they didn’t want to do—and I failed.”

“Of course you did.” Teddy’s voice was harsh and unyielding. His hair flared from red to purple, to yellow, to orange. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let grandma ‘Dromeda raise me. You’re not my Dad—”

Daphne stood up, almost knocking Astoria off the couch. Her face was white with anger. “Edward Lupin—” Harry took a step between her and Teddy, placing a gentle but restraining hand on his wife’s shoulder. He felt how taut the muscle was and winced.

“I get it,” Harry said, his voice low. Daphne’s shoulders somehow got tighter. She knew he wasn’t someone to raise his voice at his kids. She tried to do the same. “I deserve that. I made a mistake, and no amount of sorry will fix that. You’re my son, Teddy, even if I’m not your father. I love you, and if you say the word I’ll personally go to meet Remus and tell him everything. You can move in with him—”

Teddy’s mouth opened, but what words he had been about to speak were interrupted. Lily burst into wails, tears streaming down her face as Atty rocked her back and forth. Teddy’s hair, flickering orange and red, faded to a mottled, muddy green that laid flat against his scalp. Fists clenched, he turned and strode out of the room. Harry sighed.

  
“Git,” Atty said, hugging Lily tightly. Daphne’s look made her glare at the ground. “What? He is!”

“Agreed,” Astoria said. Harry shook his head, turning to Daphne, his eyes asking a question she knew was on his mind.

“We both agreed that this was the best choice,” Daphne said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. Astoria pretended to gag. Atty had managed to make Lily calm down, her wails quieting to soft, wet sniffling. “Our only choice. He’ll come around.”

“He’s young, but...” Harry’s arms wrapped around Daphne’s sharp form. “I still vividly remember how I was at his age. All that anger has to go somewhere. No amount of good we can do will make up for taking away his childhood.”

Lily was at his feet, wrapping her arms around his legs. Atty had joined them as well. Harry smiled at them, wiping his eyes again. Daphne looked at Astoria.

“I’d join you,” Astoria said. “But really, this seems more like a Potter thing. You see, Greengrasses don’t hu—”

She didn’t have much of a choice when Daphne flicked her wand and summoned the girl off the couch, wrapping her up in the hug.

For her part, Astoria didn’t complain.

####

Dumbledore had never truly believed that Sirius was the traitor everyone claimed he was. Even Severus Snape would be quick to admit that yes, it was unlikely that Sirius Black was secretly the Dark Lord’s right hand man, which meant that if he had received the Secret from him, it was unlikely to be because Sirius was a traitor.

However, something must have happened. Perhaps twelve years under the influence of Dementors and sharing a floor with Bellatrix Lestrange had caused that famed Black family insanity to surface.

To think the boy was dead…

He had no high opinions of James Potter’s son, but to see him go so gruesomely, so… needlessly... Severus had not drunk since that night Lily died, and yet when he had heard the news, he had been quick to turn to a bottle.

He hadn’t actually poured the glass until, only hours later, Narcissa Malfoy informed him through a source of hers in St. Mungos that Daphne Greengrass, the leading Slytherin student in her year, had passed away as well.

 _Malediction_. He knew that their family harbored a blood curse, but its details were rather obscure. He had created various potions as a favour to Lucinda Greengrass’s father in an attempt to stave off the death of his second daughter. It hadn’t worked.

Now sober and more than happy to distract himself, Severus found himself in front of the Greengrass Manor, having been invited by Lucinda and her husband to discuss the future. Their youngest was, after all, just starting school.

Knocking on the door, he was invited in by a stout house elf and found himself staring in confusion as the Greengrass couple stood there with not one, but two children.

The boy looked suspiciously familiar.

“Professor Snape,” Leonidas Greengrass greeted him with a nod. “Please, come in. Moppy will bring us tea.”

Snape nodded, holding his questions back. He imagined they would answer them unprompted. By the time they were seated on the creamy chaise and had tea in front of them, the boy had managed to change hair colours three times.

“To begin,” Severus spoke up, “I am truly sorry for your loss. Daphne was a wonderful student and the circumstances of her death have shaken the staff at Hogwarts.”  
  


Astoria didn’t need to pretend she was feeling sick at the reminder. The girl’s gaze stabbed into the surface of the tea. The boy, however, looked absolutely devastated. As if he was remembering something awful. Severus realized he must have been there when she died, and if Daphne had died as Adria Greengrass had years ago, then it must not have been a kind scene to such a young mind.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Lucinda said, her face schooled in a cool mask of apathy. Though she tried to sound detached, as he was so used to from Narcissa Malfoy and her ilk, he could see the sloppy makeup hiding what must be bags under her eyes and a barely working spell to glamour her tear-stained eyes. “I… came to realize when my sister died that this is something we cannot control. She wouldn’t have wanted us to become debilitated by her death. The same—the same as Daphne. We would make but one request.”

“If it is within my power,” Severus motioned for them to continue. Lucinda and Leonidas shared a look.

“We understand that the headmaster is likely planning to hold a funeral for the Potter boy,” Leonidas said. Severus tensed at the reminder. “It might be a bit selfish, but we wondered if we could hold her funeral at Hogwarts as well.”

“Of course,” Severus said, his eyes turning towards the two children. “Albus would have asked you anyway, but he is a bit busy at the moment. While the exact date hasn’t been set yet, I am certain he’ll contact you once the details are taken care of.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda said, her voice breaking. “We appreciate it, truly, Professor Snape. Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Severus said, his lips pressed together. “It is a duty and a privilege.”

“It is still far above what you are expected to do, even as her Head of House.” Leonidas took the reins from his wife. “Which is why I feel so ashamed to ask you for more. You see, my wife and I are… not happy that the news broke so quickly, we wish to avoid the reporters and well-wishers. Astoria will still need to pick up her wand and books for this year—”

“I’ll take her,” Severus agreed immediately. More things to do—even if he hated dealing with brats, a pureblood heiress might at least be better behaved. “What about the boy?”

“Ah,” Leonidas said, his face actually _flushing_ slightly. Severus would have gaped at the display if it wasn’t for his own ability to keep his emotions in check. Leonidas Greengrass was not a man who knew shame; he stared down people who tried to mock him for taking his wife’s name in the face of the Greengrass family’s demise twice a week. “That’s, perhaps—”

“My name,” the boy interrupted, “is Edward.” He hesitated for a moment. “Edward Remus Lupin.”

Snape couldn’t help himself. His eyebrows rose, his lips curling into a furious sneer. Long enough for them to notice, short enough for him to pretend he hadn’t just brashly given away his every thought. “I seem to be missing something.”

“The boy, Teddy we call him,” Leonidas said. “He’s the son of a distant relative of mine, who has recently passed away. He’s come to live with us. We understand that his name is… not unfamiliar to you.”

“It is not,” Severus said, the gears in his head spinning already. “Any relation to Remus Lupin, who will teach at Hogwarts this year?”

“Yes,” Edward said, frowning. “He’s… my father.”

Severus could see it already. Remus had always been popular, in both looks and brains. He also had been a coward, hiding behind his… condition to shirk any responsibility for his choices.

“He’s been homeschooled for the past year, I assure you he has the adequate ability to start his second year at Hogwarts and a wand of his own,” Leonidas continued. “If you take Astoria, we would just request you let him accompany you to buy books and robes.”

“Of course,” Severus agreed quickly. “What happened to the mother?”

“She’s… gone,” Leonidas said. His voice had that edge of sadness that gave Severus all the information he needed. Edward’s frown, too, made it clear, his hair turning into a solid pink. “As you can see, he’s a Metamorphmagus. It’s a rare ability, but he has promised he won’t use it to cause trouble.”

“I see,” Severus mumbled. “Very well, I can take them this weekend. Just make sure they have the money they need. I shall inform Albus of your request for the funeral.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda said again. “And please don’t be too harsh to Mr. Lupin. I’m certain he had his reasons. Despite all that, young Teddy grew up to be a very respectful young man.”

“Of course,” Severus said. If anything, the lack of dealing with someone like Remus Lupin was the only reason the boy had grown up well. “Do you wish me to inform him?”

“No,” Edward said, a small smile on his face. “I’d like it to be a surprise.”

Severus paused for a moment. He nodded, turning around towards the door to hide his grin. “Have a nice day, then, Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass, Miss Greengrass, Mr. Lupin.”

####

After Snape had left, Lucinda couldn’t help herself. She laughed in the face of the bold lies they were selling to the professor. More than that, she was laughing at how quick he had been to believe them when they put the character of his enemies into question.

Teddy didn’t seem very amused, but he was more relaxed than before. He was lying on the carpet, Lily building something around him with blocks that Harry had conjured. Atty refused to leave Harry’s side for some reason. She was sticking to him like a goblin in a goldmine.

Lucinda had heard of the earlier argument from Astoria, pity spreading through her when she considered what she would do if her daughters had said something like that to her. Perishing the thought, she found herself watching Harry and Atty play. The girl was painting his nails meticulously, taking just as great care (and failing miserably) to avoid painting his fingers as well.

Daphne had mentioned that he’d lived at home, working on a way to break the blood curse, for most of their marriage—but she had never thought someone who spent so much time researching would be this _domestic_.

It wasn’t that she had a low opinion of him for that, but things like these were always a cultural shock to people who were raised like them. Purebloods were, after all, not those who would rock the boat when it came to traditional family values.

The fact that Leonidas had managed to burn half the kitchen down in an attempt to surprise her with breakfast one day had nothing at all to do with her refusal to let him cook, of course. It was those ingrained values.

Daphne, on the other hand, was the opposite. Though she clearly loved her children, she was a career woman through and through. The successor of Amelia Bones, a… childhood acquaintance of hers. The woman was a year above her and even today Lucinda remembered how the now-Madam Bones has made headlines in defunct school newspaper by declaring herself a ‘disaster’ at the top of her Sonorous-enhanced voice one drunken night after a Hogsmeade weekend. To this day she hadn’t dared ask why the woman had been so upset.

“What do you expect to do when they can take care of themselves?” Lucinda asked, the words leaving her lips without a second thought. Harry turned towards her, their eyes meeting.

“How do you mean?”

“When they’re adults, ready to take on the world of their own,” she clarified. “You can’t be the doting father forever.”

Harry nodded, shaking one of his hands in the air as Atty started on his toes. “I suppose I haven’t thought about it much. There were other concerns.”

“May I be so bold to offer you a suggestion, then?” Lucinda asked. Harry tilted his head, urging her to continue. “You’re intelligent and driven. Ten years of research would do that. With that knowledge in your head, you could become a magical researcher with the Ministry or a teacher.”

“I don’t think that the Ministry and I can reconcile our differences in approach,” Harry said, but he didn’t dismiss the rest of her suggestion out of hand. “I could see teaching, but… not until everything is sorted out.”

“Mhm.” She nodded, looking at Lily who was bored by the building blocks already and had decided to take a nap on her brother. Harry found his gaze following hers.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” he asked after a short moment, a little waver in his green eyes like the ocean uncertain beneath the storm.

“I think that if I had been in your shoes,” Lucinda began, “I would have done the same.”

Harry pursed his lips. “That’s not the same as being right, now is it?”

“It’s certainly not the same as being wrong, dearest son-in-law.”

“I suppose not,” Harry mumbled. He took a look at his fingernails. “Atty says that black fits best, but I feel that green might be a much better approach.”

“Black like your hair!” Atty insisted. Lucinda raised an eyebrow.

“I think that red might work if you dye your hair,” Lucinda said. “It might be a better solution than using spells to hide your features all the time. You can’t stay cooped up in here.”

Harry smiled. “Not a bad idea.”


	5. Red Cold River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daphne and Harry need to talk.

###  #### Chapter 5: Red Cold River

The past few days were hectic. It always was when it came to their kids, of course, but Harry always made it look so easy. While he was hashing out details with the Gringotts goblins and their ever greedy grubbing appendages, she had taken to shopping with the money that sat in his vault.

Priority number one was clothes. Children grew up so fast, and their clothes stopped fitting even faster, or got destroyed in ways that not even magic would be able to save. If you ever asked Daphne Potter if she enjoyed Muggle fashion, she would vehemently deny that the comfortable and unique pieces would ever be found in her wardrobe. After all, a proud woman of her standing and magical capabilities would never be caught wearing something so obviously… niche.

Her children, however, were a different matter. It was much cheaper to buy muggle clothes in bulk, which was why her day was spent in a rather busy street enjoying the bustle of London. Of course, nobody could blame her for going in disguise using the aforementioned niche Muggle clothes. Despite her impeccable disguise, people’s heads turned where she walked.

Maybe she could buy some groceries as well, it wasn’t something that she was used to doing, but she couldn’t keep relying on Harry considering how busy he was becoming, and Moppy had all hands full with the children whenever they were both out.

It’s not like it could be that hard, considering she wasn’t someone to look at the price tags. How much would a handful of bananas cost, ten pounds?

So there she stood, having a staring contest with a small sweater with a smiling dragon on its front. It’d fit Astoria. But the five other sweaters she had already bought should be enough until the girl’s next growth spurt…

“A bit early for Christmas shopping, ain’t it?”

A voice next to her made her lose the contest, forcing her to break it off to face whoever was interrupting the important decision she was about to make.

“A bit,” Daphne said, looking at the massive bags she had in her hands. Bless the levitation charm. The woman in front of her had a bright smile, her own bag in hand. A child, maybe five years of age, held the other. She smiled at the young boy.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” she said. Daphne was about to ask how she knew, before she noticed that the people around here were not  _ quite _ wearing the latest fashion. The handbag that she had charmed to be bigger on the inside was guiltily tucked behind her back when she turned to face the woman properly. “So I wanted to ask if you wanted any help.”

“I’m fine,” Daphne said, shaking her head slowly. The woman nodded. “I was just a bit distracted.”

“‘Course, must have an army at home with that many bags.”

“No,” Daphne said slowly, her gaze wandering again. “Just three. But we lost all our things in…”  _ Don’t say gas explosion _ , her thoughts shouted. Don’t say gas explosion. The head of the DMLE does  _ not _ use gas explosions as an excuse, “a fire.”

Close enough. She resisted the urge to smirk in satisfaction when the woman’s pitying stare announced the success of her lie. “Oh you poor thing-”

“It’s fine,” Daphne said, perhaps just a little bit too fast. Her hands smoothed out a crinkle on her dress. “We’ve… lost nothing we can’t replace. At least we weren’t home when it happened.”

Queen of bold faced lies that Daphne was, the unwitting woman suspected nothing. “At least that. Thank God. I won’t hold you up any longer, then.”

“It’s no problem, thank you for your concern.”

She grabbed the sweater. The dragon won today. She would wear less conspicuous things next time she went shopping, unless Harry decided to take over again. She found herself in a dark alley before she put all her bags into the handbag and apparated away.

There were few days when Daphne was not tired. In a way, working herself to the bone was a way to deal with the stress that surrounded her. It was fulfilling and distracting, something that Harry had described parenting as.

She came home to the sound of her children playing. She smiled, putting down the handbag and releasing all the clothes. Moppy would get to them as soon as he had time. She walked over to the dining room, giving them a few more minutes before she could go up and disrupt whatever mess they were making. It smelled pleasant as Moppy prepared dinner.

With a quick flick of her wand, parchment and an inkwell laid in front of her. It was her routine.

The tip of the quill touched the ink for a short moment, giving it just enough time to drip off any excess before she started writing.

_ Minister Granger, _

_ Due to current issues with my daughter’s health, I’m afraid that I will have to take an extended leave from the office. I would ask that all non-urgent matters to be given to Vice-Director Peterso- _

Her hand went still. The tiredness in her eyes was blinked out quickly, the tip of the quill snapping against the parchment and table, sending drops of ink into the air. Her eyes followed them, watching as they hit her hand, staining bits of it pale black. The droplets left a streak as they flowed down her now shaking hands.

It took until the pressure in her chest grew that she noticed that her breathing had stopped. Of course, how could she be this stupid? She raised her wand to vanish the paper, but something sparked. The paper caught fire. She waved her wand again, causing the flaming paper to swing back and forth, taking a few tries before she finally succeeded. She stumbled out of the dining room after opening a window.

Up the stairs to the living quarters, through the hallway plasted with various black and red flowers. Passing the portraits of her grandparents with a barely noticeable frown and into the guest room which held none of their pictures. None of their memories.

The door behind her closed with a soft click. The blinds were still closed from last night, leaving nothing but the most miniscule of sunlight through. She took a few steps towards the bathroom, finding her legs growing weaker every second. The short moment of leaning against the wall became longer. She knelt, then laid against it, taking a shuddering breath.

Drawing her knees up to her face, she curled up, unable to stop herself from breaking down.

####

It felt surreal, and yet somehow it felt more real than ever. The arrival at Diagon Alley with Professor Snape and Astoria was but a floo away.

Teddy found himself waiting in the small inn with his aunt, who was all but bouncing on her heels. He could understand, that was how he felt when he was about to get his wand. The fact that her parents weren’t there to accompany her hadn’t put dent into her excitement.

Which was a stark contrast to the surrounding area. Bleak and dreary would not begin to describe what mood had spread here. People looked like it was the end of the world, gazes lowered towards the ground, many bumping into each other as they walked through the doors into the Alley and ended up apologizing rather than getting upset.

Astoria’s bouncing stopped when she saw something a few meters away. Professor Snape was talking to a man, who had pulled his eyes away from the newspaper in his hands, holding it to his side. On the front page, displayed prominently, was an article: ‘Tragedy strikes twice’. A very young picture of his d- Harry. A very young picture of Harry and a separate one of Daphne were plastered on.

Auntie Astoria didn’t feel like bouncing around much after that, though whether it was the memory of watching her sister die or the act she put on despite knowing that she was still alive, he could not say.

She looked up at him. He nodded. The professor came back a minute later, pointing at the door. “There might be reporters skulking about. I shall cast a spell over you to change your appearance slightly so we won’t get harassed.”

It was a strange sight to him. For someone who could change their appearance at will, seeing people use magic to change hair colours and distinct features on their faces always felt a bit off. He could not put his finger on why.

“If we’re separated,” Professor Snape continued, “look for the wizards and witches in brown coats that hold the insignia of the Ministry. Those are Aurors.”

“Aurors,” Astoria said, an edge of awe in her voice. Teddy pursed his lips. “Thank you, professor.”

The man gave a mere nod and they were off.

That’s when things got stranger.

Teddy knew the Alley. He had visited it often with Harry in the past, it was where he received his wand, too. It wasn’t hard to spot the Aurors skulking about, the law enforcement of the Ministry standing at every corner. The fact that the people were spread so thin that he could spot them at a glance, and those that were there looked so grim…

It felt disturbing. He reached out and-

“What are you doing?” Auntie Astoria asked. Teddy blinked, looking down at his hand that had grabbed hers. He let go quickly, taking a solid step away from her. A frightening reminder that things had stopped being as they used to be. 

“Sorry,” he said, avoiding the flush of his cheeks with a nice bit of self transfiguration. Being a metamorphmagus had its advantages. “Force of habit.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the smaller girl with black hair was not too dissimilar from his sister. In fact, if he told anyone Atty was Astoria Greengrass, he doubted anyone who didn’t know his aunt would be able to tell.

Astoria looked at her hand for a moment, as if weighing something. She took a step towards him and grabbed his hand as he had before. At his raised eyebrows, she shrugged.

“Easier not to get separated.”

He didn’t have much of an argument that spoke against it, and he supposed it shouldn’t be too weird to hold hands with someone who he’s pretending to be a cousin of.

Even if she was his aunt, who was one year younger than him now.

He shuddered. She really looked too similar to his sister, but her personality was way off and it made him uncomfortable.

Snape hadn’t noticed their short moment of bonding, more concerned with the books on the list that Teddy had handed him before they arrived. Or perhaps his gaze lingered just a little bit too long on the name that was on the letter. Teddy didn’t care which.

“We can start from the back of the alley and work our way back here,” he said suddenly, making Teddy jump. “You have your money?”

Teddy nodded, patting the weightless bag on his hips. He was supposed to carry the money for both himself and Astoria.

“Cauldrons, then robes, then the books and the wands,” Professor Snape decided. Teddy pulled his wand out of his robe. “Wand, then. I don’t suppose you’ve had an education in potions?”

  
“I had,” Teddy said, thinking of his first year in the class. It didn’t go great, but Harry had given him some extra lessons. “My d… my current guardian is a Master.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing your work in class, then.”

Somehow Teddy had the feeling that this wouldn’t be the case.

“And keep that metamorph-nonsense in check.”

His hair flickered from purple to black. They were right, Professor Snape was difficult.

####

People were… difficult. He could recognize some of them, people who he wouldn’t have met.

He was standing alone near the entrance, having decided to let Snape make all the purchasing decisions for them and just move to each shop with him. Aurors were at basically every corner, so it didn’t feel too weird when one of them struck up conversations with him.

“You don’t look old enough to run around here alone,” an Auror said suddenly. He crossed his arms.

“My escort is inside,” Teddy said. “And with the auror to wizard ratio today, I don’t think I need to worry too much.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said. “You haven’t seen any suspicious people around, have you?”

“You mean besides the woman who strikes up conversations with teenagers in a dark alley?” he asked. She grinned. “Then again, I suppose Aurors aren’t suspicious.”

“Junior Auror, still in apprenticeship,” she corrected, her voice tense. “It’s awful having to say that all the time.”

“What’s the difference?”

“They get to tell me who to talk to and get the coffee every morning,” she said. Teddy smirked.

“Yeah, well, at least someone here has a sense of humour. It feels like the world is ending when you walk here.”

“Of course people are upset,” the woman said, furrowing her brows. “Haven’t you heard who died? Harry Potter!”

Teddy blinked. Professor Snape was off deeper into the shop with Astoria, complaining about the quality of the cauldrons sold. 

“Doesn’t seem like the entirety of the country should be down about it, is all,” Teddy muttered. She frowned, the corners of her lips taking a sharp turn downwards.

“Not every day a symbol against a monster like You-Know-Who meets his maker, now, is it?” she asked. She shook her head, giving him a condescending look. “Then again, I suppose someone that young won’t know about the losses of that war.”

He took a sharp breath, his hair turning deep red. She put her hands up, trying to placate him. Her hair mirrored his.

“Huh,” they said at the same time. She changed her hair to green. He followed suit. Her eye colour red, his a burnt orange. Her nose twisted into a pig snout. He pouted.

“I’m not good with that yet,” he said, his earlier anger forgotten.

“It’s not hard,” she said. “Just need to wrap your head around it. You’ll get a better grasp on it when you listen to McGonagall’s lectures a ton.”

“How’d you know I’m a Hogwarts student?” he asked.

“Easy,” she said, her wand out and turning into a magnifying glass, holding it to his face. Her eye looked massive in it. She must really like that spell. “You’re the right age, you’re here around the time most kids handle their shopping, and your escort is Severus Snape. Starting third year?”

“Second.”

“You look older.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that a lot. So,” Teddy said, trying to find the right words. “You… knew I wasn’t alone here and still approached me? Are you that bored?”

“Yes.”

The bluntness of her answer made him laugh. Of course, any indication of joy would wake demons who fed on it. Rather than a Dementor, he found himself looking into the shop when a loud crash announced the latest customer’s purchase.

Snape came out looking positively venomous. Astoria looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but there, rolling her eyes at the tirade that had still not ended. He shoved Teddy’s bag and cauldron into the boy’s hands and moved on.

“I guess you’ll get more bored then,” Teddy said. Auntie Astoria was mouthing various curse words at the professor’ back. “See ya, Junior Auror Bootlicker.”

“Twerp,” she nodded back. Rather than let them go, she shouted towards their escort with a volume that Aurors probably shouldn’t keep up in their line of work. “Hey, Professor Snape!”

He turned around, his lips thin. His eyes flashed in recognition when the woman’s hair took on a deep purple.

“I made it!” she said, pointing at her nice robes and badge. “Troll in Potions my arse!”

“Of course, Nymphadora,” Professor Snape said, his voice in a deep drawl. Teddy’s breathing stopped. “Congratulations on your appointment.”

“Uh,” Nymphadora,  _ his mum _ , said. Teddy reached out, but Astoria grabbing his hand snapped him back to reality. “Thanks, I guess. It’s still Tonks, by the way.”

Snape just nodded, turning around without a goodbye. Astoria dragged Teddy along.

Teddy opened his mouth, then snapped it shut with a click of his teeth, biting his cheek in an attempt to stifle what could be his greatest mistake yet. He wanted to tell her.

He really, really wanted to call her mum. To use that carte blanche which Harry had given him to make his own decisions.

He remembered Harry’s words. The anger and worry. Daphne, shouting for the first time in forever—

He couldn’t. If he did it, it would trouble them. It would trouble Astoria and Lily. It would trouble his dad.

So he raised his hand and waved goodbye, hiding his pale face under a disguise of red. 

####

Harry found himself stumbling through the front door of the manor. It was a difficult day, and he had to sign just a few too many documents using his own blood. He wasn’t sure if it was proper or just a ploy by the goblins to be spiteful little bastards. Considering the difficulty of using dried blood in such pitiful amounts to do rituals, it was probably more the former than the latter but he wouldn’t put it above them. The smell of smoke was strange, but no fire could be seen. His children were upstairs, laughing and playing from the sounds of it.

Yet something felt off. The bags that Daphne must’ve brought with her were lying there, which either meant that Moppy hadn’t had time yet or something was stopping him from putting the clothes away.

“Moppy,” Harry said. The elf appeared, looking up at Harry with an expression that could only be described as ‘elf guilt’. The kind that was readable from the way their eyes refused to meet yours, their ears pushed themselves against their scalp, and the way their legs shifted back and forth as if they couldn’t decide whether to face your words or apply punishment themselves.

Not that he would punish him, of course, but elves were just… simple minded.

“Is everything alright?”

“Moppy’s sorry, younger master,” Moppy said, his voice trembling. “The children’s clothes are in the room, but Miss Daffy’s can’t, Moppy can’t go into your room.”

Harry blinked. Did Daphne decide to lie down and ask not to be disturbed? Of course, she must’ve had a long day like him, if slightly less bloody. He bent down, patting the elf on the head. Moppy squeaked.

“Thank you, Moppy,” Harry said. “I’ll go wake her up and you can put the things away. Are the children well behaved today?”

“Master and Mistress are helping, they be loud,” Moppy said. His ears perked up before touching down on his head again. “Very loud.”

“I can hear that,” Harry laughed, moving to the stairs. “I’ll get them to calm down when I’m done. We’ll be down for dinner, then.”

“Yes, young master Harry, sir!” Moppy said.

Up the stairs, down the hallway, and beelining towards the guest room that they’ve taken for themselves now that the master bedroom was occupied. Harry opened the door with a soft click, finding himself standing in the darkness of a poorly lit room.

The shuffling sound to his right made him jump. He raised his wand, lighting the lamps all at once. His eyes were fixed on the sight in front of him. His wife, as beautiful as she was proud, sitting on the floor in a crinkled up dress, her face pressed into her knees.

He was at her side in a second, all but sliding next to her. His hands touched hers, causing her to look up. Her hands were cold. Her skin pale rather than red despite her tear-stained appearance. She looked more than upset, it was as if she had a dance with a Dementor.

There were no words that he could say that would properly convey what he wanted to tell her. No questions he could ask that would make him understand properly what she was feeling right now. He sat down next to her, pulling her closer. She leaned against his shoulder.

He didn’t know how many minutes it had been until she found it in herself to speak up.

“I was writing a letter,” she said. Harry felt her tense up. Moments of unspoken words turned into minutes before she continued. “To… to Hermione. I was just going through the motions. I came home, I heard the children playing, I could smell Moppy preparing dinner—”

“It didn’t sink in before then, did it?” Harry asked. She shook her head against his shoulder. “Yesterday I apparated to the Burrow. My knuckles were already on the door before I realized what was happening.”

She looked up at him, asking questions with her eyes. He was too warm. She could feel sweat run down her neck.

“I used to deal with things in a very unhealthy way,” Harry said, his expression somewhere between a frown and a smile. She remembered their first date, if it could be called such. A rant in an empty hallway, not so empty when he noticed her standing there. “You might remember back at school. I was always angry. I can barely remember most of those days now, but I always remember when I was angry.”

“We are more than our children,” Daphne said. She regretted the words the moment she said them, but Harry’s expression didn’t change. He always preached honesty. He understood her, sometimes more than she understood herself, and vice versa. “We’re… friends with that misfit Weasley clan. We’re VIPs on the top of every ministry invite. We’re… we used to be.” She closed her eyes. She tried to let go of her anger. Her fears. Her frustrations. “We used to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. She bit her lip, her hand reaching up to stop him from speaking.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, this was  _ our _ choice, not yours alone.”

Harry could argue. He was good at arguing. He would not argue.

“A muggle therapist I’ve visited after the war once gave me… homework.” Harry closed his eyes. “She called me all these things that made me happy to hear. She said I’m warm, I’m forgiving, and I’m friendly. I was all these things to every person I’ve met.”

Daphne agreed. It wasn’t exactly a point of contention. Harry was amicable to a fault, in a way that people had often compared to Albus Dumbledore, whose compassion in the face of injustice had redeemed many people on the brink.

Of course, it had also caused just as many psychopaths to remain out of prison and cause havoc. She had more than enough fond memories of each arrest to feed her Patronus until the end of days. Harry took a deep breath.

“My homework was simple, or at least I thought it was,” he explained. His eyebrows furrowed. “She said that… that I should extend all that warmth, forgiveness and friendliness to myself.”

She closed her eyes, mirroring him. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Harry could hear Moppy outside, popping up to stop anyone from interrupting them. Daphne was shivering. He wrapped his arms around her. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, unleashing a muffled scream of resentment and malcontent.

“Look at where we are,” she said, pushing away from him. He looked around as she did. He saw what she saw. The beautiful but distant room, prepared with great care for guests, but not something that she could call home. “We have  _ nothing _ . Our friends are  _ gone _ .  _ Voldemort is out there _ . All we did, all we’ve sacrificed and Lily is  _ still cursed _ . And you’re telling me you’re not  _ angry _ ?”

“I didn’t say I’m not angry,” Harry said. She opened her mouth. No words came out. “I’m angry I’ll never see the people who’ve become my friends again, for they’ll never be the same kind of people.”

He stood up, pulling her with him.

“I’m angry,” Harry continued, holding her hands tightly. His expression didn’t change, but the fervor in his words did. “That despite all this time I’ve invested in this, I will have to bury my daughter before Death calls for me.”

“Harry—”

“Once upon a time, I was so angry,” Harry trailed off, his voice shaking. She could feel his hands do the same. “I was so angry I threw all caution into the wind and gave up everything to save my daughter. Be  _ angry _ . At all the injustice in the world, at all the times you couldn’t help someone. Be angry at yourself because you can’t extend that forgiveness and warmth you give me and our children to the one person who deserves it the most.”

Her jaw was set. Her teeth met each other with an audible click.

“You really are an idiot,” Daphne said eventually. He smiled brightly. His hands were still shaking. “My lovable idiot.”

He lifted her up and spun her around. She didn’t protest. She could protest, she was good at that. She wouldn’t, this time.

She watched as he threw around magic with his wand, transfiguring the bed to be larger, the sheets to be bigger and thicker. It looked like the bed they used to have.

“And rather than wallow in that anger, you want me to do what?” Daphne asked when she regained her bearings. He raised his arms in an exaggerated motion and shrugged.

“Whatever you want,” he said. She opened her mouth again, then closed it. Her glare could have frozen oceans. “You are the master of your fate, Daphne. I can’t make you do the things you don’t want. I can just tell you how I handle things.”

“Then,” she said, looking towards the window. Had it been that long since she’s come home already? “I suppose I would like to write a letter to my predecessor.”


	6. Humble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funerals are never fun, even if you're simply burying the idea of someone.

###  ### Chapter 6: Humble

Leonidas Greengrass felt small and humbled. Not feelings he was very familiar with, as his upbringing had rarely given him time to do anything but keep his head high, and his hopes and dreams higher.

Hogwarts, as tall as ever, was the background to this monumental event. Something that he had hoped he would never have to do, and yet somehow was forced to do for the good of his family.

Everyone was here. He could see Madam Amelia Bones, accompanied by the Minister Fudge as well as other department heads. In full attendance, the Wizengamot. Behind them, secretaries. Fudge looked paler than the last time he’d seen him. The rumours about his inevitable sacking must’ve been true.

He could see the heads of the old families. Augusta Longbottom and her nephew stood near the Weasleys, whose youngest boy was holding his lone sister. His older brothers were around their parents, the oldest helping his father to keep his mother upright when she looked ready to collapse.

Lucius Malfoy stood with his wife and son, who had opted to wear his uniform instead of the rather intricate funeral robes that some of the other pureblood heirs had decided to wear. There was a time for style, and this was not it.

Tracey Davis, his daughter’s only friend at the Slytherin house, stood with her own parents, looking like she had lost a sister. Leonidas closed his eyes, turning his head away. Astoria had decided to stay home, she said she couldn’t do it. He understood.

Today, he would bury a daughter. The people came in droves, not for her, but for her future husband. Harry Potter, buried as his daughter would be, in an empty casket.

It was to rest their memory. And he knew that just like him, his wife need not act her sadness. Her hands were gripping his arm. He could see it in front of him, the short moments before his daughter’s death. That despair between her crumbling form and the mockery of time and space.

In a way, he was burying her heart. He was burying seventeen years of her life he could not participate in. He was burying the joys and worries. The right and happiness of being the father to such a bright child.

He knew there were whispers that they were using the death of a celebrity to push their own family into the spotlight. He knew there were certain people in attendance who have said as much out in the open.

He also knew that Dumbledore had thrown them out within seconds.

Leonidas respected Dumbledore. His respect only grew when he saw the genuine emotion behind those old eyes, not just for the boy, but for his daughter as well. His father-in-law once told him that a teacher did more than just give away knowledge, they gave away a piece of themselves. He could see it, as a father who had taught many things to his children. Today, where Leonidas had lost one of those pieces and felt emptier than he’d ever been, Dumbledore had lost two.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said. They were his first words in front of the caskets, a mirror of his words he said to each and every person he greeted at the gates to the castle. He stood behind a podium, holding onto it. Leonidas wondered if the man would fall over if he hadn’t. “Thank you for joining us today, to remember and bury two children taken from us too soon. To bid farewell to two souls on their way to the next great adventure.”

Chatters rose up in the rows as people started to talk among each other. Dumbledore’s raised hand silenced them all.

“Funerals are not supposed to be… grand events. In memory of those two, I have allowed all but the press access to the grounds.” Dumbledore’s eyes lingered on Fudge for perhaps just a little bit too long. “As such, I would ask those left behind if they would like to say a few words. Their friends. Their parents. Their teachers.”

Leonidas suppressed his disdain at the minister’s display of outrage. Despite the... calling it privilege might stretch it a bit, none of the teachers seemed to want to take the stage. Something he could understand. Such words of condolences were not for the show of a funeral, but for private ears.

Molly Weasley looked like she wanted to step up, but her pale face betrayed her inability to take a step forward without collapsing. It was Leonidas who took the first step, passing Dumbledore with a nod as the headmaster took the place he had vacated, helping Lucinda to keep her bearings.

He stepped up to the podium, his hands on its sides and his fingers bending to take a good hold of it.

“It might sound strange to hear, for us, whose lives can measure upwards to double what Muggles can live,” Leonidas began, unsure if he was truly worthy to speak here. The people’s chatter felt so small from here. He could see them all, their faces, their worries, their disdain. “Life is short. Too short. Whether it be a war, or malediction, or criminals. Whether it be accidents or sheer bad luck.”

He had never been one for holding speeches. Poems to steal any witch’s heart, he could do, but the fine art of speeches was not something he had ever considered himself a master at.

“My daughter loved life,” he continued. Lucinda was crying. He found himself showing the same weakness, holding them back with determination and a downward gaze. “Perhaps more so than most. She was proud and happy to see the world, she wanted to be an Auror, she learned languages so there would be not one person in the world she could not understand. Now, she is gone.”

Would the soul of his young daughter have joined with the Elysian fields? Or had it been rent into the great nothing?

“Gone,” Leonidas said, his knuckles turning white as the grip on the podium tightened. Seventeen years of smiles and laughter. Seventeen years of tears and heartbreak.  _ Stolen _ from him. Taken by this ludicrous  _ farce _ of a ritual. Ripped away by this half-blood upstart. “Gone, but not forgotten.”

And despite all that, he couldn’t bear a grudge against his… son-in-law. He traded everything for a chance. A chance that Astoria had now, and he knew he would have given everything for it as well. In a way, that made him angrier. Who in their right mind would want to be compared to  _ Harry Potter _ ?

He didn’t know what made him approve of the boy in the future. He certainly didn’t care to know now.

Leonidas left the podium after waving his wand towards his daughter’s casket. His final words engraved themselves on the stone. When he walked back to his wife, it was Arthur Weasley who passed him with a nod. Taking his position on the podium, looking more out of it than tired or sad.

“Harry Potter saved our daughter’s life,” Arthur said. He looked at his hands, clenching them over the table of the podium. “He was brave beyond his years. A true Griffyndor some might say. Though my family only had the pleasure of hosting him for a short time before his second year at this school, he was like another son to us. It would not be an exaggeration to say that he had a positive impact on anyone he’s ever met. But…”

Arthur’s eyes moved to his own family. From his wife, down to his youngest. He looked up, meeting the stares of the gathered masses, with eyes burning with passion. His ears turned red as well, his words becoming slower and more forceful.

“It would not do to remember him as he was in death, when he was so much more in life. He was a hero, a symbol of our peace, a friend to our children. Though he may have rejoined his parents, who were taken all too soon as well, we must remember that he once lived.”

“They were loved in life,” Dumbledore’s eyes lingered on the Weasleys before turning to Leonidas and Lucinda, “and that love will not fade in the face of their death. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy or boast, it is not proud.”

Leonidas frowned. Scripture? He knew some wizards who had grown up during older times and muggleborn often held onto the faith, though later generations of purebloods had… not been too kind to the ideas of the Good Book, laid out as manual by those who wished them harm.

Wizards were always drawn to the mystical. His own upbringing included more than enough information about the ancient Greek religion and culture, and though he found himself falling into the habit of using its nomenclature, he had never felt much of a connection to anything divine.

The graves were marked with their names, next to the names of many other students who had died on these grounds. It was a monument to better times that the dates of their deaths were further and further apart as the latest grave of Myrtle Warren was reached. Or perhaps now the penultimate grave, as the latest two were in the process of being filled.

A ghost was floating above Harry’s grave, looking around with exaggerated motions, her glasses almost falling off her face. She floated over to a brown-haired girl who looked more angry than sad. Their hushed whispers were met with disapproving stares.

“One day,” Dumbledore said with a sense of finality. The ghost vanished, leaving the girl alone, upset and crying. The youngest Weasley boy tried to put an arm around her in comfort, but she shrugged him off and rushed away in anger. 

“One day,” Dumbledore found himself repeating, his eyes on the retreating back of the girl who must have been Harry Potter’s friend. “I hope that I can be as loving as young Daphne and as brave as young Harry. Life is too short to spend all your time in fear of death.”

For a moment, Leonidas could feel the cold force of an accusation. Something crawled up his back, and it was not just him. The people around him had shivered at the words. Of course he knew who it was aimed at.

If not Voldemort, whose fearful name still lingered in spirit, then to his supporters.

The caskets were lowered into the ground.

###

He hadn’t believed it. He couldn’t. In the miserable haze that kept his mind from clearing he had decided that he had to see the truth with his own eyes. He had snuck through the Forbidden Forest, taking a short break to accept a bit of meat that had been offered to him by a passing centaur.

The burial grounds were on the opposite end from where the forest stood. He could hear Hagrid’s heaving sobs from his home. He could see more and more people arrive in the distance. So he took the long way around.

And he found himself staring down a hill in between brushes. Towards two caskets. Dumbledore looked like he had his own stint in Azkaban. 

For a single moment, Sirius Black felt as if the world under his feet had disappeared. For a single breath, he could head the wails of the prisoners in Azkaban. For that short time it took him to blink, he was back in his cell.

Harry was gone.

His heart burst out his chest, his body lurching forward as the animagus form he had tried to maintain fell apart and a wreck of a man was left sobbing in the ground. He wanted to fall into despair. Let go of all that humanity that he had held onto in Azkaban in the hope of one day becoming a free man again.

But he couldn’t. That semblance of sanity that forced him to check on Harry before doing anything else became a spark.

Because it was not just Harry’s life that had been lost, and it would not stop at Harry.

He wanted to laugh at himself. In that pit of despair and heresy, he found himself shaken free from the fingertips at the surface of his mind. 

Sirius Black sobered up.

And he had something to do. He turned, taking the same way again as he shifted back into the Grim. From the pits of the Forbidden Forest, he turned and ran until he could apparate.

If he was fast enough, he could reach the Burrow before the Weasleys came home from the funeral.

If he was fast enough, he could bring justice.

###

It felt strange being called up to the Headmaster’s office after the formalities were over with. Perhaps it would feel less so if he had actually visited this school. The schools of magic around where his family grew up were not quite as large or famous as Hogwarts, but he could not want for a better magical education at his age. The basics were just the basics after all, in the end everyone would have to choose their path. He had achieved his goals.

Which was marrying a rich woman and enjoying life raising two children. For that he would even weather the English weather.

The mess inside the office was not unexpected. Someone with that many offices must not have it easy in these trying times, and the fact that the old man looked every bit his age now was certainly not helping the image.

The stacks of papers on the table were banished into a drawer, leaving it free for the tea set that appeared.

“I have to apologize, Mr. Greengrass, Mrs. Greengrass,” Dumbledore said. He poured the cups full. “I wish I could have visited you myself, but with everything happening and Severus’ status as your daughter’s head of house…”

“There is no need to apologize,” Lucinda said, staring at her cup. “You’ve done more for us than you had to. We’re in your debt.”

“All the favours I could do to you would never be enough.” Dumbledore’s hands were holding his cup now. They could see the ripples in the tea. Leonidas couldn’t help but compare it to Harry. The only time that man’s hands did not shake was when he held his children. “The younger Miss Greengrass, she is well, I hope?”

“Yes,” Leonidas said, nodding. The man’s shoulders sagged in relief. “The curse has… passed her over. She will live to outlive us all. She just couldn’t bear to be here. We’ve had our own ceremony in private.”

“Understandable, it is… never easy to bury a sibling. If she needs more time before attending school, say the word and we can have her join up later in the year.”

“Thank you, Headmaster. It’ll be fine. Children are...” Lucinda trailed off, trying to find the right words, but fell short. She couldn’t imagine what was happening inside Astoria right now. The idea that she was supposed to die, that her sister was taken from her, the… time travel, magics have mercy. “Resilient, perhaps. Friends at school might help her.”

“Yes, the company of others can be sweet anodyne for heartache.” Dumbledore nodded. He took a small sip from the tea. Leonidas did the same. “Of course, this isn’t the only topic to discuss. Severus told me about a bright young man who will attend Hogwarts with your daughter this year.”

“Young Mr. Lupin.” At Dumbledore’s nod, Leonidas continued. “Has his father been informed yet?”

“No, not yet.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Remus… was a good friend of the Potters. The death of their son has hit him hard. Though there is no person who should know more than him about this child, I could not bear to tell him.”

“I’d rather keep it that way,” Leonidas said. Lucinda nodded in agreement with her husband. Dumbledore’s eyebrows visibly rose, the confusion on his face betrayed even through the tiredness of it all.

“If you would, could you explain your reasoning?”

Leonidas nodded, clenching his jaw. Here he was lying to one of the most influential people in the world, on the behest of some half-blood who couldn’t keep it in his trousers when it came to his daughter. “My… cousin had her reasons not to contact him. I respect her decision, but I also respect your decision as headmaster of this school to hire whoever you please.”

“Perhaps it would help to know the reasons,” Dumbledore urged. Leonidas hoped he would never lose that curiosity when he reached the age of the headmaster, it was almost admirable. “You are clearly aware of his condition.”

“It’s not about lycanthropy,” Leonidas lied. Dumbledore didn’t look convinced. “I may bear the Greengrass name, but I am not my father-in-law, Headmaster. All I have ever done, all I will ever do is for my family. Remus Lupin is, or perhaps was, unfit to be a father. If he is a changed man, I cannot see it from where he hides away at the funeral of his alleged friends’ son.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips. “Would he not have a right to raise his child?”

“He grew up loved and well-behaved, he is bright and he will attend Hogwarts, where he will meet him,” Leonidas said. He spun his hand a few times, motioning for himself to continue the train of thought. “We’ve talked with him. If the man acknowledges Edward, and Edward wants to live with him, we won’t stop him. I think that the months at school should be enough for them to get used to the idea of each other.”

“You don’t say those words with any confidence that he will do so,” Dumbledore said. The headmaster frowned, but shook his head. “Nor do I believe that he was raised to hate his father, from what Severus had told me. You may be right.”

“Don’t misunderstand, everything my… cousin has told me about Mr. Lupin makes me doubt he would be a good parent. Compared to the man who raised him, he is… inadequate.”

Dumbledore leaned into his chair. The tea was getting cold. “The man who raised him?”

“My cousin’s husband,” Leonidas lied as if he could coax the stars from the night sky. Dumbledore, against Leonidas’ expectations, smiled.

“It’s good to hear that he grew up well, regardless of who he would call father. In the end, what matters are the children’s feelings after all.”

Leonidas glanced over to Lucinda, who looked like she wanted to say something. Daphne had told them about Harry’s upbringing at the Muggle home that his younger self had… perished in. The reasons he tried so hard to not be a better man, but the best man he could be.

It was a strange thing to tear at him, even when removed from the absurd idea of time travel. The mix of respect and disgust at the man who had claimed Daphne as his own. Who, not unlike Dumbledore, was more than willing to keep people in the dark about things for the sake of what he thought was some sort of public good.

“I have a request,” Lucinda said suddenly. Leonidas kept the surprise off his face. “Edward and Astoria, don’t treat them with satin gloves. Don’t let the teachers do it either, especially not Edward’s father.”

“We might be a few years behind Muggle education in some aspects, but I assure you, no teacher will be allowed to favour a student because of a blood relation—”

“We know that it will happen,” Lucinda said. “Like Professor Slughorn did back in his days, like Professor McGonagall did to the Gryffindor house. Daphne had told me Professor Snape is doing the same to his Slytherins. They’re twelve and eleven, I firmly believe they will be in different houses. I don’t want this to be a reason for them to be separated when they’ve gotten… used to each other.”

Used might be a slight exaggeration. Lenodias resisted the urge to scoff at the notion. If anything, Astoria had essentially claimed Edward as a foster big brother in what could be an attempt to cope with the sudden aging up of her sister.

She had come to wear  _ muggle _ clothes with him.

“I understand, Mrs. Greengrass,” Dumbledore said eventually. “I have had a few ideas for a few events involving the houses mingling. Some that parents might be able to attend if the board agrees. I’ll be certain to keep you up to date.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Lucinda said. She stood up. Her cup hadn’t been touched once. Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned it, though Leonidas was certain he had noticed.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said, shaking their hands firmly. “For entrusting me your daughter, and thank you for continuing to trust Hogwarts to offer your family the best of education.”

###

In the barely lit office among half-asleep paintings and under the watch of Dumbledore’s loyal phoenix, Amelia Bones had found herself sitting at a small table in the corner rather than his overcrowded desk. She knew him to be capable, and even his current state would not stop him from acting appropriately in such trying times.

“I don’t understand,” Dumbledore said, his words echoing the statement with hints of annoyance and confusion, the last word stressed in such a way that reminded her of the scoldings her parents had given her when she was but a girl. “What do you mean ‘the goblins are refusing’? The Potters have no heir. I thought they were desperate to keep the money, would they lie for that?”

“No,” Amelia said, shaking her head. She opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it again. There was never anything easy when it came to dealing with Gringotts. It was the reason why laws dealing with goblins were unlikely to be enforced in the best of times, it was a lot of posturing and provocation. “The goblins obfuscate. They deceive and they cheat, but they don’t outright lie when they can make a profit with the truth. If they say the vault is owned by a wizard, it’s owned by a wizard. You know of no person who could have claimed it? Someone who put enough money into the goblin’s pockets to laugh at a ministerial inquiry?”

“No,” Dumbledore said, his lips thin. His eyebrows furrowed. His skin paled as he continued speaking. “I know there might be distant relatives in the colonies, but…”

His eyes widened. Amelia raised an eyebrow when he rushed to his desk, pushing stacks over stacks of papers away from the table, digging through a staple of envelopes until he found what he was looking for. Something he must have been studying since his own issue with accessing the Potter vault. The names on it were familiar. “The will—”

“James and Lily Potter’s will?” Amelia asked. The answer, if anything, should be written down in there. Because the goblins, among miserable profit making and miserable bloodsport, had a major pillar in their society that they would not concede on, something that made them more similar to wizards than they would ever care to admit. Laws of inheritance, even if put in different cultural and societal context, were a major reason that their society trusted these tiny monsters with their wills.

“Did they name any other beneficiary?” she asked, taking her time to leave him in reading the same line over and over again.

“Only one possibility,” Dumbledore said. He sounded defeated. Angry, almost, but not quite yet. She knew him when he was angry. “As the other has already confirmed that he hasn’t touched anything other than the galleons that his old friends left him. One more friend they had left.”

“Sirius Black?” Amelia asked, her voice rising to meet the ridiculousness of the  _ idea _ . “How would he—”

“The goblins care little for wizard squabbles,” Dumbledore’s voice was low and rumbling. His thin fingers crumpled the edges of the will. “The ministry can force their hands, but in the end, the will is absolute. It might be possible that a lack of forethought was what allowed Mr. Black to access the vault.”

“But that makes no sense,” Amelia said, waving her hand dismissively. “Any convicted criminal is bad business for them, even if they keep the vault intact and unmolested, they won’t allow anyone access. They’d just wait for the inactivity clause to kick in and seize it—”

“Unless…”

“Unless?” she mirrored him when he looked down at the will.

“Unless he’s never been convicted,” Dumbledore said. His voice cracked with something she couldn’t place. A miserable thought verbalized. A mistake of his own, announced. “Without records of such a conviction, the goblins would not care. Records which I have been assured were sealed and inaccessible to me.”

Amelia’s face went through various motions and colours, until it settled into a snarl. He had no reason to lie. “Bartemius the Zealot. His mistakes will keep haunting us.”

And she, as Head after Crouch was dismissed, had too much to do to clean up his visible messes to take a look at the invisible ones. 

“And this mistake might have put money into the hands of a dangerous man,” Dumbledore said. His voice faded as Amelia rushed out after grabbing the will from his hands. He let go. “Or perhaps, it made an innocent man guilty. Or perhaps...”

  
  


###

After Leonidas and Lucinda had left, Harry and Daphne were up early while their children were still asleep to write what could be the beginning of a dangerous venture.

The trust that was necessary to put this into words was nonexistence between them and the recipient. The letter was a test, both to Amelia Bones and to their ability to do good with the chance they’ve been given.

As much as he wished he could trust Albus Dumbledore’s values as much as Daphne trusted Madam Bones’, it was difficult to rebuild what image he had of the headmaster. Though he regretted not one action he had taken under the headmaster’s guiding hand, he could not let his family be part of those games. Those  _ politics _ .

As much as Albus Dumbledore thought he had everyone’s best interests in his mind, the way to hell would forever be paved with good intentions. Leaning over her shoulder, Harry read the letter aloud.

_ Madam Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. As a concerned citizen, I felt the need to inform you of a ghastly event that had transpired in my earshot… _

Harry looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Ghastly?”

Daphne rolled her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re emotional support, dear. Let me write this and don’t judge my methods.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry said, raising his hands. He muttered. “Ghastly…”


	7. Parting Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dearest Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Those experienced with the unfortunately shallow pool of Harry/Daphne fanfiction may find the case of Mrs. Shafiq... familiar. I intend all credit to the author and the story who inspired it, but for the sake of avoiding rather pivotal spoilers for the work in question I will not name it outright. If you still wish to know, my PMs are open. 

###  ### Chapter 7: Parting Glass

Amelia’s grip on the letter loosened as she grew angrier. With a quick stasis spell, she raised it into the air to avoid any further contamination of evidence. With a quick cast, she sent a Patronus forward to send a message.

The offices of the Department Heads were spacious. She never liked space. She had preferred the small and simple office she had before Fudge became minister and decided to ‘improve the image’.

She had refused to decorate it in any way. The achievements she had gathered over the years were where they deserved to be: in a dusty old box in the attic. People who held onto badges and medals were too blinded by their own ego to do good work, and in her opinion there was nothing more important than the work she was doing.

The responsibility of the magical government of the Isles could not be carried out without the DMLE. The main division of that department was the Auror Office, which held the bulk of their forces on the ground.

When the head of said office walked in, looking confused and concerned, she knew that she wouldn’t like the answer.

“That case from two years ago,” she said. He didn’t ask ‘which’ when she paused. His eyes turned towards the letter that was suspended in the air next to her. “Come here. Take a seat, Scrimgeour.”

“If you’re going to fire me for something, I’d rather stand,” he said, trying to sound humourous. Her glare made him sit down. He felt like a child at Hogwarts again, being scolded by his professor for blowing up a cauldron. “Is everything alright, Madam Bones?”

The letter floated in front of him. He began to read out loud.

_ “I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. As a concerned citizen, I felt the need to inform you of a ghastly event that had transpired in my earshot, _ ” he read. She pursed her lips as he kept going. “ _ Though I understand that you are currently busy with that disgusting business in the Shafiq family investigation. Inconceivable, how a man could die under such circumstances. At this point I’m wondering _ —”

He stopped. He knew why she was so angry now.

“The investigation is classified,” he said. He raised his hands. “And I vetted each of the Aurors we’ve assigned, none of them are the leak.”

“They are not,” Amelia said, nodding. “Indeed, it seems that this letter was… a show of knowledge. No, a show of force. An ‘I know something you don’t know’.”

“For what purpose? Provocation? Perhaps the culprit left evidence on it on their arrogance—”

“It wasn’t written by anyone related to the case, I’m certain. Keep reading.”

He did. “ _ At this point I’m wondering whether magic was fooled. After all, there are many ways for people to look like someone else— _ ”

He stood up. She raised her hand to stop him. “We’ll check right after. Sit down.”

He did, with a thud and the scraping of the chairlegs onto the floor. Scrimgeour looked furious, his lips twisted into a snarl and his eyes looking for blood.

“Someone found that missing puzzle piece, who either has access to secret case files that even the Minister is not privy to,” Amelia said, using spell after spell to gather evidence on the letter. There was none. “Or someone who has compromised someone with access to those files. Someone cunning and intelligent.”

“We were too blinded by the obligations of the contract and removed Mrs. Shafiq from the list of suspects too fast, that’s not their success, it’s our failure to continue to investigate the most likely angle—”

“Yes.” She wasn’t too proud to agree in this instance. “The rest of the letter is much more interesting, however.”

“ _ If you wish to hear more about the things I’ve overheard, perhaps it would be prudent to send a letter to Gringotts, addressed to… Margery Daw _ ?”

“A nursery rhyme,” Amelia said. “Code. They’ve likely set up a post box there, the goblins will keep any tracking spells off the letters.”

“Poppycock,” Scimegour said, waving it off. “That’s a trap if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Perhaps one we could spring in our favour. I’m not satisfied with leaving an obvious leak out there where they could ruin investigations. They want something, I say we listen to what it is.”

“A mutually beneficial agreement only works when there’s trust between the parties, Madam.” Scrimgeour was twitching. Ready to move out and arrest Mrs. Shafiq, no doubt.

“We can’t afford an uproar with the no confidence vote around the corner,” Amelia spoke up after a moment of silence. His twitching stopped. She hid her smile behind her hands as she bridged her fingers over her mouth. “I want it by the books. Any piece of evidence you can gather ready to be used once Fudge loses his office.”

“He’ll be powerless in those weeks after the vote and before the elections,” Scrimgeour verbalized her thoughts. “Do you think he’d still try to sweep it under the rug? We haven’t seriously looked into the case because of the circumstances of their marriage oaths.”

“Fudge is a career politician, he has nothing more to lose if he tries to suck up to the rich widow by making sure our case falls through.” Amelia pursed her lips, her hand moving to the table and tapping its surface. “If the way we’ve received this information somehow reaches his ears, that’s it. I want your opinion as Head Auror.”

Scrimgeour grimaced. He’d had his own share of dubious sources over the years, which meant he wasn’t above doing the wrong things for the right reasons, but this case was something else. She knew Mr. Shafiq used to be an old friend of his. She knew he’d never allow any details to leak if it meant that he couldn’t capture the culprit.

“If the information is valid, and we can confirm that the leak isn’t on our side,” he said, a sense of eventuality in his words. Like his doubts, as valid as they were, slowly slipped away at the idea of bringing justice. “I think we can consider that agreement mutually beneficial.”

“Nothing reckless,” Amelia warned again. “Nothing illegal.”

###

Teddy found himself ashamed, and too proud to admit it. It wasn’t that he was  _ wrong _ , after all. He couldn’t apologize for being angry for the right reasons, and he wasn’t raised to do so anyway!

Astoria, or Atty, rather, didn’t understand what had happened. Perhaps she didn’t want to. Harry hadn’t given him the silent treatment, Daphne wasn’t treating him any differently either, but something was in the  _ air _ . Something suffocating. It smelled like sulfur and misery.

That schism which was forming between him and the rest of his family had so many layers, he cursed his disdain of reading books for the lack of options to put them into words. It hadn’t helped that he had met his… his  _ mother _ .

Worse yet, he hadn’t told anyone. When Auntie Astoria and Atty left for ‘girl stuff’ (he imagined it was a tea party of sorts, Moppy looked positively miserable), he was left alone in their room.

In between sheets that weren’t his, a mattress that wasn’t his, a  _ room _ that wasn’t his.

He found himself lying on the ground staring at an all too familiar ceiling. Though it wasn’t his ceiling, it had the same pattern as if frozen in time. The adults were all downstairs, listening to the news on the radio in expectation of  _ something _ .

A sudden weight on his stomach made him cough. He looked down to find Lily on top of him, having sneaked in with an expertise that would make any spy in a movie proud. She looked at him with a frown.

“That hurt, Lily,” he said, wheezing her name out. He tried to sit up, which was proving harder than he had imagined considering their difference in size. Lily leaned forward and put her hands on his face, grabbing both of his cheeks.

“Hut,” Lily said. Teddy blinked. Was she talking? Or perhaps he was just hearing wrong. She grabbed tighter, making him hiss when her nails ended up hurting his skin. She loosened the grip at the sound. “Da.”

Teddy frowned. He put his hands under her armpits and lifted her up, standing and taking great care not to drop her. She didn’t let go of his cheeks, and her expression made it clear she wouldn’t.

“Yeah,” Teddy said, his words slurred due to the uncomfortable grip on his face. “I know.”

She let go, her arms instead snaking around his neck. He squeezed back. She knew, even if he didn’t say anything. She was too young to understand the whys and hows, or the solutions, or the words that he too was missing from his vocabulary.

But she knew.

“Everything will be fine,” Teddy said. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie, and if it was, if it was fine to say to promise such a thing. After all, there were so many other things to find out. His… father, Remus Lupin. Would he reject him? They were putting him into a ridiculous position, after all. But if all the stories that Harry told him about his parents were true, and they must be considering his mother’s antics! Then… he would be happy?

And if he wasn’t, would he reject him? If he chose to live with his father, would Harry?

Lily shuffled in his arms and struggled to break free from his own grip. He let her go, watching as she toddled out of the room at an alarming pace. He started to run after her, to avoid her tripping up, but ended up stopping before he reached the door.

If Harry rejected him, would his sisters?

Would Daphne?

He bit his lip. Weeks ago, he could have said with confidence that Harry would never do such a thing. That Harry would rewrite the stars to keep them all safe, but with Lily’s curse, perhaps… perhaps his concerns were bigger.

And Teddy couldn’t stand in his way, because to Teddy, Lily was more important. She was his little sister. And he would not allow anyone to hurt her.

He could wait.

He  _ would  _ wait.

###

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic for what would likely be the next hour at best, shivered in his seat. He knew it was coming. In the end, it was inevitable, despite all the favours he tried to call in, despite all the connections he had. Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be found and the world around him seemed to go mad because of the death of one child.

Of course, Harry Potter was a special child. The vanquisher of the Dark Lord! The Boy-Who-Lived! And it fell on the shoulder of the government, and its representative and face, the Minister, to make sure that all its citizens are safe.

Of course Sirius Black of all people had to be the first person in all of Azkaban’s existence to escape. The deranged man was unlikely to stop his rampage at one boy, and that was the crux of the issue: people did not trust the current government in the face of their failures.

“Minister.” The voice caused him to look up from the fidgeting at his robes. Like a mirror, Albus Dumbledore stood there with an expression he could well understand. Months ago he would have doubted such a face on a man like him could be genuine, but at the end of the road, there was nothing but the truth. “It is time.”

“Yes,” Fudge said, frowning at the door. “Yes, I’ll be right there.”

Dumbledore nodded, walking into the chamber. With a deep breath to steel his nerves, he walked in, his head held high. He suppressed a smirk at the nervous glances towards him by half the Wizengamot.

In accordance with the old charter, the Wizengamot, as legislative and judiciary body of the British Magical Government, had half of its members appointed by the Minister, while the other half were inherited seats of families that held power long before the Ministry was founded.

It was why, without pressure from the ICW, the minister’s position was so secure in between elections. It was why usually, the notion of a no confidence vote would be squashed within seconds. Because once he was replaced, half the seats in the Wizengamot would be up for grabs, and the people who had sat there and sucked up to him for years would have to find a new patron to keep their power.

“If it is all the same to you,” Minister-to-not-be Cornelius Fudge said, nodding towards Dumbledore. “Let us dispense with the formalities and get this over with, Chief Warlock.”

“Of course, Minister,” Dumbledore said. The man addressed the room as Fudge took his seat. Amelia Bones stared at him, cold as always. Her eyes spoke of something she wanted to say, something she knew that he did not. Fudge pursed his lips.

Augusta Longbottom stood with the confidence of a pureblood matron, staring the room down with gross disdain. “The motion for a no confidence vote has been filed. If we’re skipping the niceties, the sooner we have this vote the sooner we can arrange new elections.”

Not even an ounce of doubt that the vote would fail.

“I agree,” Fudge said. The muttering around him made him scowl. “Let us do it faster, then. In accordance with the charter of the Wizengamot, I hereby step back as Minister of Magic, wholly inadequate of the title that has been bequeathed to me by my predecessor in the wake of her… unorthodox retirement. As specified, until the next elections for my replacement can be held so I can pass this seat on, I shall continue to observe the office until that day.”

The muttering grew louder. A bang from Dumbledore’s wand quieted the room down.

“The Wizengamot has accepted your resignation,” Dumbeldore said, nodding. Fudge watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Madam Longbottom took her seat again. “In favourability to the best possible turnout of voters, the election shall be held on the weekend over the Fourth and Fifth of September. I would hope that there are no disagreements.”

There were none.

“This leaves candidacy,” Dumbledore’s words made the mutters increase once more. Greedy eyes. Desperation to hold onto power. The malcontents who knew that this was their chance. But Fudge knew better. There was more to an election than having your name on a paper. If they were capable of it, they would sit in an office already, not be left to suck up to their superiors while sitting in seats that they’ve bought. “Any Witch or Wizard, no younger than thirty years of age, can be a candidate. They will need a hundred signatures, or the vouching of no less than two members of the Ministry. Are there any here who wish to suggest a candidate?”

Fudge stood. “I suggest Amelia Bones.”

The people became loud again. Once more, Dumbledore caused a noise that stifled the comotion. Amelia’s raised eyebrow was barely noticeable when she stood.

“As honoured as I am, Minister, I do not believe that I can do the work that I wish to do behind your seat. I prefer the DMLE.”

Fudge nodded. He knew that. But it put the ball in her court. She looked towards the door.

“If I may,” Amelia said, standing up. Dumbledore nodded for her to continue. “I recommend Rufus Scrimgeour, the current Head Auror. I know him to be a capable man, and a true Auror with everything this includes. If anyone can capture Sirius Black and fix what is wrong with the Ministry to let such a dangerous man escape, it will be him.”

Approval from everyone except Dumbledore, whose face darkened at the mention of the escaped convict. The Chief Warlock merely nodded. A man stood, Titus or something or other, he didn’t know. “I second the recommendation. If Head Auror Scrimgeour wishes to run, two seats will speak for him.”

He had no doubt Scrimgeour would jump at the chance. But an election with one candidate was not much of an election. Someone else stood, Mrs. Shafiq, who had inherited her husband’s seat in the wake of his… unfortunate death. A widow would surely be high in the polls, especially one with her fortunate features.

“I wish to submit myself as a candidate,” she said. It didn’t take long for someone to stand to second her motion.

The door exploded inwards. The outrage at the sudden intrusion by six Aurors led by the Head Auror himself was quickly snuffed out when their wands aimed at the Wizengamot.

“Outrageous!” someone in the back seats shouted. “How dare you, Scrimgeour! You forget your place—”

“Mrs. Emmaline Shafiq,” Scrimgeour’s voice was amplified through the wand on his throat. “You are under arrest for the murder of Anis Shafiq, the use of an unforgiveable curse, the subsequent murder of Patricia Willow, and line theft.”

No one dared to speak up afterwards. It was Dumbledore who broke the silence as the six Aurors took the woman, leaving Scrimgeour standing there with him. Fudge found his eyes trailing towards Amelia, whose smug satisfaction was exuding off her much like the stench of a predatory animal.

They knew the candidacies would be a mess. They knew that many, many people who were corrupt and worse would be more than happy to stand up for their chance. Did she always have that evidence and wanted to wait until elections? No, Amelia wasn’t  _ that _ willing to let injustice like this slide. He wouldn’t have appointed her to the head of the DMLE if she was.

Regardless, the chilling effect it had on the rest of the crowd was her win. There were people who would be hesitant to step up in fear that the scrutiny would cause another investigation into matters that have been closed.

“If you could explain, Head Auror,” Dumbledore said, sounding equally curious and exasperated. “As I am certain you understand, arresting Wizengamot members requires the annulment of their immunity by a majority vote.”

“Or, if caught red handed, merely the permission of the head of the DMLE, Chief Warlock,” Scrimgeour nodded towards Amelia. “As she was sitting on that chair without legitimate claim, in the absence of her late husband whom she had murdered, the charge of line theft is enough for an arrest, you will find.”

“But that’s impossible,” Fudge found himself saying. What did he have to lose now? “They married under an ancient oath. They can’t move against each other!”

“Then perhaps an explanation would help alleviate the fears of the others.” Dumbledore’s words shut Fudge up, but it did nothing to stop the people familiar with the case from voicing similar complaints.

Scrimgeour nodded. “I apologize for the scene, Chief Warlock Dumbledore. New evidence had suggested an unorthodox loophole in those marriage vows. We had found that while the Auror Office was busy dealing with this case, a missing person file had been started and left to dust over. A neighbour of Mrs. Shafiq had reported her daughter missing.”

“Miss Willow?” Dumbledore asked. His lips were sucked in as if he had eaten something sour. “I imagine you’ve… found her remains?”

The Head Auror nodded once more. “A simple mistake often made, though the effect had dissipated, the woman was killed with the polyjuice potion still in her system. It allowed us to find the connection to Mrs. Shafiq as confirmed by an independent potions master. She had… put the young woman under the imperius, forced her to participate in the vows and then killed her to take her place while planning to kill her husband.”

Fudge paled. Something like that was… beyond cruelty. And while he was willing to close both eyes for the favours of his friends, it was impossible to do anything now that he was but an interim minister. Those two had planned this from the start.

“She was Mrs. Shafiq by the paperwork and legalities,” Scrimgeour finished. “But by magic, she was nothing more than someone with her eyes on the fortune of an old family. She wouldn’t have been able to commit to this marriage with such a vow.”

Fudge was proud of his choice in Amelia. Perhaps he could trust her to do right with Scrimgeour.

“I’m certain the evidence will be given to us when the court is back in session,” Dumbledore said. He could, of course, demand an immediate trial to put the Wizengamot back into a full session, but Dumbledore, and Fudge as well, knew that Amelia Bones would not have approved of such an arrest without the evidence to back it up. “Unless there are any other protests?”

The Wizengamot cowered under his gaze and words. No one rose.

“Very well.” Dumbledore nodded. “Head Auror Scrimgeour, in the wake of Minister Fudge’s intention to resign from his position as Minister of Magic, you have been suggested and seconded as candidate for the position.”

It was subtle. A face with years of experience at hiding emotion and intent, broken up into surprise of raised eyebrows. Scrimgeour looked at Amelia, only to receive a nod in return.

“I… am honoured,” Scrimgeour said, putting a hand over his chest. “I accept the nomination, Chief Warlock, and would like to thank the Wizengamot for giving me this chance.”

Amelia’s earlier smile had been schooled into a satisfied twitch of her lips.

“Now that this has been resolved,” Dumbledore continued when Scrimgeour left the room. He put his hands behind his back, standing up straight and watching them like a hawk. “It would be prudent to have more than one candidate that the Wizengamot can approve of. Any other suggestions?”

“How about Arthur Weasley? Does he not work for the Ministry?” Mathilda Scorese said. “I remember him from the funeral, a passionate man.”

“Nonsense,” Nott spoke up. “He’s not much of a politician, he has no ideas about the intricacies and the—”

“Why,” Dumbledore interrupted him without a second glance. Fudge would have disapproved of such a display in the past but… “Why that is… a wonderful idea. I believe that Mr. Weasley is in quite good standing, is he not?”

Good standing, yes. A pureblood, with not one squib in his family tree, unlike many other families, even his own wife included. A Ministry worker—

“I second the nomination,” Fudge said. If for nothing else, then for the misery it will bring these treacherous bastards when Mr. Weasley polls high. The ludicrous stares, even those of his now former undersecretary, were like anodyne.


	8. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let us speak of good men...

It was when September was right around the corner. Like some cosmic law, nothing ever happened alone. It came with many strange events and piled up until it seemed insurmountable.

Daphne’s melodious laughter at hearing that Arthur Weasley was the runner-up in the elections, despite having no campaign, was more than enough to make Harry happy. He smiled into his cup of coffee as she read the paper in the morning, her eyes dancing with untold joy that he was all too glad to see.

Lily was sitting with Astoria and Atty. Teddy had finished breakfast early, moving up to his room to once again check all his things in preparation for Hogwarts. The boy looked more nervous each passing day, and Harry could not blame him. Even to him, the thought of meeting Remus Lupin again one day was enough to freeze him in his place.

The thought of meeting his godfather again made him choke on his breakfast eggs. Unfortunately he hadn’t had time to look for the man yet. Lily was slapping his back happily as he coughed the eggs back up. A soft rapping at the window broke the fun up. The well-fed and menacing looking owl that Daphne let in with a flick of her wand landed right in front of her, holding not a letter but a single note.

“ _ The letter has arrived _ ,” Daphne read aloud. Harry exhaled through his nose, lifting Lily up and turning her around so she was facing the plates again. He cut a piece of the toast, reminding her to chew when she grabbed it off his fork with her hand. “It seems like everything is resolved before the election.”

“I’d still like to come with you,” Harry said. Lily was ruining his shirt with her greasy hands, making it hard to keep a straight face. “I understand why you want to go alone, though.”

“She might not want a meeting," Daphne reminded him. He shook his head.

“No, there’s no way someone like Amelia Bones won’t jump at the chance to stop a leak in the Ministry, not when the elections are a weekend away. It’s her reaction to the revelations you’re offering that I cannot guess.”

“She’s reasonable. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  
  


###

They were in disguise, of course. While Atty and Lily were staying at the manor with Leonidas and Lucinda, it was Harry and Daphne who took Astoria and Teddy to the platform. For the first time in forever, Harry felt nostalgic, as his eyes trailed down the rows of children that he used to call his classmates. A memory long past.

Fortunately, the Weasleys weren’t there yet.. Daphne, who was holding his hand, must have known what was on his mind. She squeezed, keeping her gaze at Teddy who looked more nervous than ever. Astoria, in stark opposition, looked ready to take on the world.

To this day Harry wasn’t sure if it was her natural resilience or amazing acting skills, but Astoria’s behaviour helped Daphne’s own doubts about their uncertain future, she had stated as much at night in bed.

There was nothing wrong with looking forward to better days, after all, even if the past was dark and murky. Even if many days ahead were unknown and dangerous, the silver lining would always come.

“Teddy,” Harry said. The boy looked up, his eyes twitching from left to right. People he didn’t know. People he knew would not be here. “Remember what we’ve talked about. I’ll not make your choices for you, I trust you to make them yourself.”

A lot of trust for a twelve year old, but Teddy wasn’t exactly ordinary. He was, after all, the raised son of Harry Potter. In a way, being raised as such in a world where Harry was a celebrity and Daphne had nothing but the highest standards for them, helped Teddy a lot.

He was a child, yes, but he knew better.

So he nodded. Harry smiled at him, kneeling down to give the young boy a hug. Though he was still nervous, he shook less. It was with a smile that the boy entered the train with his aunt. Astoria was still waving at them with a smile from the window as they turned to leave.

It was at that moment someone entered over the gateway. First one, then two, then three and four at the same time. Harry found himself staring into the eyes of Molly Weasley when the sudden influx of her children knocked him over with their trolleys. Daphne was by his side, helping him up and brushing the dirt off his suit.

“Oh dear, I am so sorry!” Molly said. She turned to her children. “Apologize, now!”

Harry smiled. No matter the point in the flow of time, Molly Weasley was a pillar he could rely on being exactly the same.

  
“It’s alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said. The woman took a second, her gaze lingering on him and his wife for just a moment longer until her eyes flashed in recognition.

“Mr. Greengrass,” she said, her voice weakening. “My condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Harry looked towards the children. Ron looked better than his sister, but not by much. His trolley had a suspicious lack of a rat. So much for that. Perhaps the news of his death caused the coward to flee. Daphne’s squeeze of his arm brought him back to the matter at hand.

“It will never be easy, losing family,” Molly said. Harry thought she would reach out and put a hand on his cheek as she usually did, but the woman instead wrapped her arms around her youngest. The twins were already gone, pulling all their things along. “Is… her sister alright?”

“She’s better, yes,” Harry said. He thought back to the girl waving at them. “She’s too proud to show it, but she’s hurt. I’m certain the school work will be a good distraction. Which reminds me…”

Harry looked towards the youngest of the bunch. Ginny was pale, and much thinner than he remembered her being at that age. Her sunken eyes betrayed sleepless nights under the covers.

“My cousin’s child will join your year,” Harry said. Compared to Astoria, she must not have handled the news well. He could not blame her, he felt similar when Sirius died trying to save him. “Please be kind to him, he’s not having an easy time.”

“Of course,” Ginny said, trying to smile and failing. Molly smiled at her, giving them a solid nod before leaving towards the train.

“Have a good day, Mr. Greengrass, Mrs. Greengrass.” Molly waved them goodbye. Daphne looked at her watch.

###

The private rooms rented at Gringotts were, for all intents and purposes, the most secure place to have a secret meeting with ostensible leaks in the Ministry. In exchange for a fee, they would promise a neutral ground in which all kinds of hostility would be dealt with under goblin law.

The sign for such a thing, unable to be faked as it was a great matter of honour to the gold-seeking critters, was three purple flags hanging above the door.

There was something akin to approval at the back of her throat. Amelia stepped up to the room, waiting for the goblin to open the door just in case. The roll of his eyes must have been a trick of light, after all nobody ever heard of a goblin rolling their eyes.

The interior was not unlike other offices, with the exception of a mediator. The older goblin looked half blind, squinting over the spartan wooden table as she entered, to his left the person she was meant to meet.

Objectively “beautiful.” Petite might be a fitting word, she wasn’t very tall, but the way she sat made her seem that way. Her clothes spoke of a wealth that would dwarf the requirements to purchase such a meeting room, and her face spoke of features that were ostensibly foreign, despite the blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

The woman stood, and Amelia had noticed she was still standing in the doorway of the brightly lit office space.

“Madam Bones,” the woman said. No accent, no. A dialect that spoke of the poshest of English upbringing. Amelia blinked, but quickly gathered herself. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, I hope you have not had trouble finding your way here.”

“Very little,” Amelia said. Her eyebrows furrowed, though she stepped into the room regardless. The woman had put her wand in front of the goblin, whether as a sign of trust or stupidity she could not tell. Something about her was familiar, but none of the signs of illusion magic were standing out to her.

This either meant the woman was genuine, or incredibly skilled. More likely was both. The average witch did not exude confidence when disarmed. Amelia pulled out her wand with her right hand, grabbed the tip with her left and put it on the table, sitting across the woman.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss?”

“All in due time,” the woman said. She smiled, pulling out… her wallet? A muggle wallet, in the hands of someone who looked like the epitome of pureblood nobility. “I understand that the things I know aren’t something you can trust have come to me legally in these belligerent circumstances, but I wish for you to keep an open mind.”

Amelia resisted the urge to scoff. The wallet was pushed over the table, though Amelia did not make a move to pick it up.

“Here is a picture of my children,” the woman said. Amelia pursed her lips. “If by the end of this you’d want me arrested for any reason, I want you to keep it. It shouldn’t be too hard to find them. I want only one thing from you, nothing else, a single oath.”

“Oaths aren’t easily given, not to those without names,” Amelia said, crossing her arms. Her eyes flicked over to the wallet. “You want something in exchange for nothing, I don’t believe I’d have to tell you why that won’t work.”

“The information about Mrs. Shafiq was the tip of the iceberg. I have knowledge of many things, some that might make the Ministry collapse unto itself with few hopes of coming out unscathed once the ICW swoops in.”

“I also don’t believe you’re someone who would resort to threats,” Amelia said, rapping her fingers on the tabletop. The old goblin hummed. The woman’s smile was less than assuring. “You work for the Ministry.”

“An exchange,” the woman said. “A single name. I know you have Veritaserum with you. I want you to ask my name, know that I speak the truth, and I want you to swear to me that my children will be left alone even if you wish to arrest me, flimsy as your arguments for such a thing might be.”

The goblin reached into his own robes and pulled out a clear potion. “Counter-agent has been prepared, Madams. A single question.”

Amelia clenched her fist. Though she wished she wasn’t, she was indeed a woman of her word, and even without an oath she could not accept this deal without the intent to follow through. The payout was too generous to care about the risks.

“A promise, then,” Amelia said. She put her hands on the table, bridging her fingers together in front of her. “You seem confident that whatever your truth is will sway me from throwing you into the deepest hole I can find.”

“I’m more than confident that you’re a better person than you’re trying to present yourself,” the woman said. “No one speaks ill of Madam Bones, after all.”

Amelia reached into her robes and pulled out a vial of Veritaserum, something she had always kept on her in the case of emergencies. Sometimes, a drop of truth was all it took. The goblin gingerly took the vial from her hand when she held it up to him. He opened the vial and took a sniff, likely to confirm that nothing else was in the truth potion or that it had not been botched.

Giving her a nod in confirmation, as well as an approving grunt towards the woman, the goblin began to administer to the dose. Amelia stood up, standing in the proper light to watch as the potion went into the woman’s mouth.

Her eyes glazed over. The goblin looked into them, confirming with a single sharp nod that the potion was working. With a nod from Amelia, she confirmed that she was prepared.

“A single question,” the goblin said. Amelia cleared her throat.

“What is your name?” Amelia asked. What dark and bleak secret was hiding behind that cold mask of a posh, stuck-up pureblood? What past was hiding behind these glacial eyes? In the end, she couldn’t have been prepared for the answer.

“Daphne Potter.”

Amelia, honed by ages long past, capable and powerful in her own right, found herself on the ground as her knees gave out. That was  _ impossible _ . With that kind of accent, something she doubted strongly even she would be able to fake, there was no way this woman was from the colonies. Dumbledore’s theory was falling apart at the seams.

“James—” she stopped herself when the goblin growled. The counter agent was applied with a single drop into her mouth. The clouded eyes began to gleam with life again. It was when the woman,  _ Mrs. Potter _ , was holding her hand out to help Amelia up when she exploded into motion. She stood, pushing herself off the ground and taking a few steps back from the table.

“No,” Daphne said, shaking her head at the unasked question. “I am not the second wife of James Potter. I’m afraid you’ll have to try again. I believe you’ve promised something.”

“I’m not going to arrest you,” Amelia said. She shook her head. “I have no real cause. You’ll tell me everything, and in exchange I’ll do everything in my capacity as the head of the DMLE to keep your children safe from the vultures.”

Daphne smiled. “Thank you.”

Amelia nodded, her heart rising in her throat. A glance at the goblin was met with a wave of his arm. She picked up her wand as Daphne did the same. She moved closer to her again, grasping each others arms. In a show of magic the oath was spoken.

“You’re intelligent and driven,” Daphne said after a moment of silence when they had split up. “How would Mrs. Potter whom the world had never heard of exist, and yet at the same time know more about the dirty laundry of the Ministry than even the head of the DMLE herself?”

“No,” Amelia shook her head. She furrowed her eyebrows. She put her wand onto the table again. “I am wondering about much more than that.”

“Oh?” Daphne prompted, smiling. “What would that be, Madam Bones?”

“I’m wondering whether the funeral I’ve visited was faked, but then the ages wouldn’t add up,” Amelia said. Daphne’s face brightened in appreciation of her insight. “Children, you said. How many?”

“Three. The oldest is twelve, the youngest is turning two soon.”

Amelia gingerly took the wallet from the table, turning it around and opening it to look at the picture inside. A boy, and two girls. She felt faint. The hair on the older girl would be a dead giveaway, if the eyes on the younger sister weren’t. “How do you know about the case?”

“The case was dug up again around 2006, when I became the head of the DMLE,” Daphne said. Amelia’s grip on the wallet tightened. “I understand it might feel a bit strange to hear, there’s… not much we could do about the way we’ve arrived here.”

“So you’ve faked your deaths?”

“In a way we didn’t need to. Our younger selves were… destroyed for the lack of a better word, when we arrived. It wasn’t our intention, of course, but I feel that explaining this to you in any kind of detail would lead to more questions I don’t feel inclined to answer.”

“Questions about blood curses,” Amelia concluded. Daphne’s soft smile turned into a murky frown, her lips twitching with an unamused upset. For someone who presented herself so above it all and friendly, it must be a sore spot to mention her family’s… affliction.

It was now public knowledge, after all. In a way, the Greengrass family has become ‘spoiled goods’. To mingle with their blood would mean curses on their bloodlines. This was a death sentence in pureblood circles.

“Among others. I take it you don’t have too many doubts.”

“I can’t call you a liar,” Amelia said, tapping the empty vial of Veritaserum on the table. “And in between a hundred theories I have, I must say that time travel is the least preposterous proposition, considering we have an entire department studying such magic. Rather…”

“Rather?” Daphne asked, leaning forward. Amelia’s eyes were fixed on the corner of the room as memories of her brother and his wife surfaced. Memories she felt crawl up every day she was with Susan.

“Was it worth it?”

Daphne hesitated, but her answer was still clear. “Yes.”

“What did he do?

“He was keeping time,” Daphne said, the frown turning back into a soft smile. The smile of a mother and a wife, not the smile of a high-ranked Ministry official who had to force herself to be pleasant to everyone. “He would keep their time, until the world would be safe for them.”

Amelia gave back the wallet after another quick glance at the wallet. Daphne took it and pocketed it, pulling out a folder of stacked papers in exchange. The goblin stood up, moving towards the door.

“I take it you will no longer require my services, Mrs. Potter,” he said. “Please send your husband my regards.”

“I will, thank you, Zurink,” Daphne said. When the door behind him closed, Daphne’s shoulders visibly sunk in relaxation. “I admit, I’ve come to expect more of a push from you, Madam Bones.”

“And I’d think you’d be less willing to gamble information away on a whim,  _ Madam Potter _ ,” Amelia said, frowning. “I don’t disapprove of your methods, and I understand your circumstances have not left you with many options, but I think we are both a bit too old for common cloak and dagger stories.”

“I admit, my husband’s dramatic streak has rubbed off on me. I’ll apologize at a later date, once we are done with this.”

Amelia couldn’t help the fondness she was feeling. It was that smile. That damn smile as the woman in front of her, Daphne Greengrass,  _ Daphne Potter _ , took out her wedding ring and put it on.

“I’d like to meet him whenever he has time. He sounds like a good man.”

“The best.” Daphne took a moment, looking towards the door. “Speaking of good men, I feel that we must speak about Sirius Black.”


	9. Smoke Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts beckons for young Teddy Lupin

###  ### Chapter 9: Smoke Clouds

It felt surreal, Arthur Weasley realized. He didn’t know it’d get this far when Albus had approached him with the suggestion of running for Minister. It wasn’t his dream job, far from it, but the good he could do in the position, or even as a candidate by keeping the more difficult candidates in check, was too much to pass up.

Which is why he had his own campaign office, now. Technically it was just his department, which had decided to champion him as a candidate not unlike Rufus Scrimgeour was being championed by the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

More surreal than that, still, was the strange fact of his polling numbers being so high. While he was barely at half the votes of Scrimgeour, whose passionate speeches and long tirades about the failures of the previous Ministry, as well as the escape of Azkaban inmates ( _ “Though there was only one, so far, who knew how many there would be in the future?” _ ), he still had a solid twenty percent at the polls.

So here he sat in the office of said Head Auror, drinking a cup of tea. Rufus Scrimgeour, a shrewd and tough man, was not someone Arthur would have cared to have a cup with, but the man’s invitation was too curious to refuse.

On the back of the room was a banner revealing the man’s pride in his old Hogwarts house, one that he, too, had visited in years long past. The painting of a roaring lion did nothing to stop Arthur’s rising nervousness.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve invited you over, Mr. Weasley,” Rufus said. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“I can imagine a few reasons,” he said evenly. “But I’ll try to be diplomatic and say yes. I’m dying to know.”

Rufus shrugged in an exaggerated motion, raising his hands in front of him for a second. He took a sip of his tea, letting the motion stand for a moment before continuing to speak.

“Just because we’re ostensibly rivals in this election doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be friendly with each other, regardless of the outcome, we’ll still be co-workers, after all.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Arthur said. Having to deal with a certain kind of people over the past weeks that led up to the election forced him to harden slightly when it came to discussions about the election. People who had offered him support in his… campaign, in exchange for the consideration of being picked for the appointed Wizengamot seats.

He may not be rich with galleons, but he had a wealth that he would not give up for anything in the world.

“How is the family doing? I’ve heard your sons are doing great at Hogwarts, a few applications in various departments have already gone in from Percival I believe his name was.”

“Fine,” was the curt answer. Arthur stared at the cup in front of him, the rising steam drawing him in. “They’re doing fine.”

“Good to hear.” Rufus leaned back, taking another sip of the tea. The silence kept stretching on until Arthur had enough.

“If you think you can try and make me do something for you by offering my son a job, you’re mistaken,” Arthur said, his voice tight and annoyed. “He will earn his position by his own merit, as capable and intelligent as he is. And I won’t have you, or anyone, try and play with him like a pawn just so you can play your game of chess.”

“Do you think so little of me? I’ve stated my position to the people already, I’ll be tough on crime and the criminals. I’ll capture Sirius Black and I’ll avenge the Boy-Who-Lived. What more do you expect me to do?”

“I know your reputation,” Arthur said, his voice even. Rufus leaned back in his chair. “I know you have the trust of Madam Bones, and that you will try to do right by this country. But…”

_ But. _

There was always a but. Fudge was competent, in certain ways,  _ but _ he was also a corrupt piece of goblin piss. Amelia Bones was capable and wise,  _ but _ she was hard. Fair to a fault, some might call it. Rufus Scrimgeour was capable, and just what the country needed…

“But,” Arthur continued, putting his cup down onto the table. “You’re vainglorious. The things you can do well are held back by your inability to accept that, to borrow a muggle phrase,  _ pulling off the bandaid _ is better than leaving people in the delusion of safety.”

Rufus’ smile did nothing to make Arthur feel better.

“You see this election as picking the lesser of many evils,” Rufus concluded. Arthur couldn’t deny it, so he said nothing. “Do you think you would do a better job?”

Arthur shook his head. “No. But to me, there is more than doing a good job to being Minister. I’ve seen how Minister Fudge handled all these things, I’ve seen votes go through the Wizengamot that would make the likes of Grindelwald jump out of his seat to give a standing ovation. He was, without a doubt, a capable Minister.” Arthur’s hand clenched into a fist. “For better, and for much, much worse.”

“I believe we’ve started on the wrong foot,” Rufus said. Though Arthur’s words were insults, barely hidden under the guise of criticism towards a specific sort of politics, the Head Auror responded amicably. “As you’ve said, I will win this election. I think that if you had genuinely tried, you would have had a chance, but that time has passed by now. The reason I’ve invited you here is an offer.”

“A bribe,” Arthur said. Rufus laughed, deep and poisonous. Arthur wasn’t someone to get upset easily, but all interaction with Rufus reminded him of his interactions with Lucius Malfoy. The fact that the rat of a former Death Eater hadn’t been sighted in the Ministry paying lip service to bigoted ideals and paying off workers was a blessing. “You’re not going to get me to drop out. I won’t make this easier for you, I’m afraid.”

“I wouldn’t worry, I’ve never feared adversity. No, I want you to work for me when this election is over. Better pay, better hours, and in exchange, I get something of value; a different perspective.”

“Or a trophy to legitimize you. The runner-up works for the minister, as what? Undersecretary?”

“You are right,” Rufus said, causing Arthur’s rising temper to deflate. The redhead blinked, his eyebrows twitching as the other man’s expression shifted into an uncanny smile. “You are absolutely right when you say that I am… vainglorious. Not the kind of word I would have chosen, but in the end politics is a game of keeping up appearances. The moment you lose face, the vultures descend on you. You’ll be ripped apart, like Fudge was.”

“If you want me to accept your reasoning, I’m afraid I have the distinct pleasure of telling you to shove it, sir.”

Rufus did not react to the obvious taunt.

“Let me be frank,” Rufus said, standing up. His steps had a barely visible limp as the man came around the table, pulling out a folder from a drawer near the wall. It was thick and full of paper. A photo was hanging out of it when he threw it over the table. Blood in a small room. A death that would still cause a lump to rise up in Arthur’s throat whenever he thought of it. “I can’t do anything without the support of the people. Once Sirius Black is captured, things will be good for a while, and then descend quickly. What I want isn’t to capture Harry Potter’s murderer, but to stop anything like this happening again.”

Arthur did not speak up, his eyes lingering on the picture. His hands reached out slowly, shaking as he took it, pulling it up. The wall around the window was cracked. It was… as his sons had told him. They must have ripped it out helping the boy.

“Arthur,” Rufus’ voice released him from his stupor. Arthur shook his head, putting the picture back into the file. “If we want to change the world, we’ll need all the wands we can get.”

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “Do not use this as your recruitment strategy. Do not use a body that has barely gone cold as the face of your campaign.”

“The offer remains open, nonetheless,” Rufus said. “I don’t need you to approve of my methods, but as Chief Warlock Dumbledore and Madam Bones would tell you, they’re effective for a reason. I like you, and I hope you will come to realize that my offer is genuine.”

Arthur stood up, his body shuddering. Like there was a taint over him that he had to shake off. Like the air had gone too heavy to breathe properly. He turned around, leaving with quick steps. “Good day to you, sir.”

###

Amelia sighed, at disbelief at what she was about to do at the behest of a virtual stranger. The cameras flashed in front of her, the journalists of various newspapers had gathered in front of her, watching her every move. If the politicians at the Ministry were like vultures, then these were closer to maggots. To them, the words ‘journalistic integrity’ were as the word ‘magic’ was to Muggles. A myth. A distant hope that you could experience in your dreams. She took a deep breath.

“Good evening,” she began, enjoying the moments of silence before the inevitable flood. “And thank you for coming here at such a short notice. I wish to begin this press conference by making it clear that despite the elections, the Head Auror office has not suspended the hunt for Sirius Black and will continue to pursue justice for Harry Potter in their utmost capacity.”

The flashes. The chatter. The quills scratching the parchment.

“However, there are a few key details which have come up during the investigation, and my hope is that sharing this information here with you will cause the arrest of Mr. Black to happen sooner, rather than later.”

And the flood began. Flashes became a storm of light, chatter became a crescendo of questions. Somehow, the quills joined in, writing louder just for the sake of being loud.

“Madam Bones, is it true that the—”   
  


“Madam, could you explain—”

“Madam, is there any man in your—”

“Please,” she said, raising both of her hands. She had found early on in her career that there was a much clearer sense of satisfaction in silencing people without the use of magic. The expression, the tone, the perfect volume, the gestures. “There is always time for questions at a later date.”

She hummed in appreciation when nobody made a noise, then began going through the motions. The phrasing was important. The net would have to be cast.

“It has come to the attention of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that Sirius Black has never received a trial before being thrown into Azkaban,” Amelia said. She grimaced at the thought that had crossed her mind when she remembered Albus’ words. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately in this case, there were no mistrial laws in the charter of the Magical British Community, leaving Sirius at the mercy of the Wizengamot ruling. “Rest assured that we shall not repeat the mistakes of the previous administration. Such gross miscarriage of justice will never happen again.”

“You will give him a trial?” someone asked. Amelia nodded sharply.

“Men do not turn traitor overnight!” Amelia said. In proper posture, with the proper tone, the people hung on her every word. “We shall try him to the full extent of the law, and force him to admit to the litany of heinous sins that he has committed as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s right hand man! We shall have him confess it all and close this dark chapter of our history once and for all.”

Silence reigned. And from silence grew applause. The few citizens who had been in the conference hall had begun to cheer, and many of the journalists were already running out, hoping to make the afternoon papers.

She could see one of her aurors approach the woman from the Daily Prophet, Skeeter, and whisper something in her ear. The woman left with a massive smile on her face. Amelia suppressed her own until she was out of sight.

###

Sirius was grinning a toothy smile. The glint of insanity in them made the rat that was stuck in a cage next to him squeal in fright. Sirius could kill two birds with one stone. He had been biding his time, hoping that he could approach Dumbledore or perhaps Remus to help him clear his name, but this was even better.

There was no way they could order a Kiss without killing what little trust the people had in the government, which meant that he would stand trial if he turned himself in to Madam Bones. He smiled wider, turning his head towards Peter. “Looks like we have some work to do, Petey.”

He held the newspaper clipping of the Daily Prophet up for the rat to see. It began hyperventilating.

_ Wizengamot Pre-Approves Use Of Veritaserum for Sirius Black’s Inevitable Trial _

###

He found himself sitting with Astoria and two other first years that had found themselves in front of their compartment.

In stark contrast to her behaviour at the platform, Auntie Astoria’s chattiness had turned into a tired and slurred babbling until she had fallen asleep halfway through the trip. She was shivering a lot, her skin turning pale. He had thrown a blanket over her, thankful that Daphne had packed it for him. She had grabbed his hand in her sleep, not letting go.

“Daphne,” Astoria’s soft voice came from under the blankets. Teddy sighed. He found himself drifting off to sleep as well. The ride was still a few hours, and the sun was setting.

The train ride was over faster than he would have thought.

When Astoria shook him awake, he groggily rubbed his eyes and looked outside. The higher years were already leaving without him, and he was once more going to join the first years on their trip towards the castle. The cinematic route wasn’t something he cared to repeat, not with how many things were coming up, but Astoria looked positively lost and might end up falling over into the water if he wasn’t with her.

The friendly hulking mass of a man that helped them onto the boats introduced himself as Hagrid. Different yet similar to the man that was the groundskeeper even in the future. He had less white hair, for one, and his voice was much hoarser and less boasting. Regardless, with his size, his voice carried over them anyway.

And when the first years passed the bridge and saw the castle in the distance, all of them voiced their awe. Astoria was quiet, watching the water instead of the castle. Teddy let her be.

When they arrived, rather than meet up with Headmistress, or Deputy Headmistress McGonagall rather, Hagrid took them to the Great Hall himself. The man’s eyes were moving over the students, and with a friendly nod, he ushered them in.

Taller than most of his classmates already, and certainly standing above the first years that surrounded him as they entered the Great Hall together, Teddy felt a sense of nostalgia that would make no sense to anyone else.

Hogwarts hadn’t changed at all. It stood, stalwart and proud of its heritage, surrounding its students with a kind of embrace that only a place of learning could. A school like no other, people had called it. A place where history was written.

The Deputy Headmistress stood next to the chair, a hat in one hand and a list in the other. She turned from her conversation with the Headmaster.

So when the list started, even amidst the confused stares, Teddy stood still. His eyes were moving over the table in front of him instead of focused on the person on the chair.

History, indeed. Albus Dumbledore, whom he had learned much about, as well as those who had taught Harry and Daphne in their years at school. He had wondered, were the teachers back then so much better? Or were the students back then so much more eager to learn?

His searching stopped when he found a hunched over man with a pale face staring intently at his empty plate. Remus Lupin. His father. He flicked his gaze over to Auntie Astoria when her name was called, and she sat in the chair looking ready to take on the world.

The hat took its time. He could see her lips move as she spoke to it, arguing about something. Professor McGonagall waited patiently, though the people were not so generous, asking instead what was going on. After what felt like an eternity, the pale faced girl jumped off, the hat all but thrown into the chair.

“Slytherin!” was the sorting, and in seconds she found herself at the table being welcomed by a few friendly voices and stares of pity. She sat down next to Tracey Davis, who gave her a hug. It was returned in earnest. Teddy smiled, maybe he wouldn’t have to keep an eye out on her that much.

It was when ‘Peter Lewis’ was called that he knew his time had come. He stepped forward before the Professor could say his name, but stopped when he found her eyes flicking between the list and his face. He smiled at her, confirming her suspicions. She nodded back.

“Edward Lupin.”

Teddy’s eyes were fixed on his father as the name was spoken, the tinge of exasperation in McGonagall’s voice as well as her own glance towards the professor table caused audible confusion among the student populace. Dumbledore must have told him, Teddy had decided. His reaction was much milder than what he would have expected. He glanced up, giving the boy an apologetic smile. A promise to talk later, if he so wished.

Remus Lupin, his father, looked defeated. The unending flood of stranger and stranger events beating down at his chest left him with little energy, though this night being a full moon would certainly not help these matters.

Teddy noted the lingering gaze as he stepped up. The hat barely touched his head before it righted itself up, shouting “HUFFLEPUFF!” to the world.

As expected, of course. There was no doubt in his mind that his once and future house would be perfect for him. Even among all these new faces, or old faces he recognized from visits that his parents had received, Hufflepuff felt right to him.

He sat down at the table, preparing to dig in. Hungry would not begin to describe the pit in his stomach, and it would not be filled by a few chicken legs and treacle tart.

“You’re a bit tall for a first year, aren’t you?” someone asked, causing him to look up from his attempts to fill the plate with everything on the table. The boy was older than him, but his friendly smile was certainly disarming. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“I’m joining second year,” Teddy responded, smiling back. He remembered him from pictures. The Hufflepuff Common Room had a massive painting of him, fighting a dragon as the Triwizard Champion. Hufflepuff’s best. “I may be tall, but I’m only twelve right now.”

“Homeschooled?” someone else asked, a bit further away. Teddy frowned at their tone, it was in opposition to the boy’s warm approach. He knew the implication, of course. People who couldn’t afford to send their children to a school would homeschool them.

“I went to school.” Teddy’s frown deepened. The girl looked only slightly older than him, but her expression added a few years. The kind of expression a child could only emulate from their parents. “Not that it matters.”

“Don’t mind Charlotte, she’s not good with people,” the boy from earlier said. “I’m Cedric, by the way. A Prefect for Hufflepuff. If you need anything, feel free to ask any of us that have this badge.”

“Will do.” Teddy tried to not sound too excited. A girl next to Charlotte grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away from the conversation by forcing her to lean back into her seat.

“So,” Cedric continued unabashed, sneaking a glance at the professors’ table where something of a heated discussion was going on. “Any reason Professor McGonagall looked like the Weasley twins were up to no good?”

“No,” Teddy said. He glanced at his father as he took a bite of the chicken. It tasted like ashes. “Yes. I mean, it’s weird. Family stuff.”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

“It’s fine,” Teddy mumbled. “You’ll find out soon anyway. The new DADA professor is my father. And he, uh, he didn’t know until this summer. My mum died and I’m living with my uncle now.”

It was fanning the flames of the rumours that Teddy didn’t want to subject his father to, and yet it was the only thing that people would believe. For Lily and Atty, he had to avoid rocking the boat.

And as students of that age are wont to do, the muttering grew louder as the information spread.

Merely Cedric had the decency to shut up, though his face turned from a smile into an expression of pity. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Ah,” Teddy said, looking over to the Gryffindor table. Victoire wasn’t there, of course. He shuddered as the cold hands of doubt clawed up his back and into his skin, licking bone. “Yeah. Me too.”

It was only minutes later that the headmaster stood and motioned for them to be quiet. The student’s chatter died, and the announcement was made.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, and to those who will continue your education, welcome back. Before we’re releasing you into the sweet confines of your new dorm rooms, I have a few announcements to make.”

Teddy frowned. Weren’t those announcements meant to be done before eating? Or perhaps he put it off so he could discuss the thing with his father. It was awkward, of course, having all the eyes of the professors on him.

“Joining us this year will be Remus Lupin, as Professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Mr. Lupin is an alumnus of Hogwarts and capable in his field.”

The people clapped, confused. More eyes moved towards Edward. He found his hair shift in colour as he made himself smaller to avoid their gazes. Lupin left the hall quickly, which did nothing to stop the rumours from growing.

“I wonder what his deal is,” someone on his left said quietly. 

Teddy pursed his lips. “We all have our demons.”

  
  



	10. Face My Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teddy faces regret.

###  ### Chapter 10: Face My Fears

It was a weird experience. The teachers were walking on eggshells around him, or perhaps it was around all of them. Or perhaps that’s just how teachers used to teach.

While he knew the ins and outs of the castle by now, having to pretend that he was also still leaning, and unable to go with the other first years due to his classes being in the other direction, made things awkward when he had to follow some other second year Hufflepuff to the classrooms and getting a rather weak explanation of the surrounding areas and directions.

His first classes were in transfiguration and herbology. Though she had been informed about his prior education, Professor McGonagall made it her mission to be certain that there were no holes in his ability so that he would be able to participate in her class. After a few simple, first year transfigurations, she awarded him five points and let him sit down again.

But her eyes. They made him paranoid. As if she suspected something was up.

His own suspicions were confirmed when she had asked him about his previous teachers, about his upbringing, about his father. He narrowly avoided the interrogation by making mention about his mother and walking out with a sad face that only a metamorphmagus could make.

Besides going to classes and spending his time reading at the library, there wasn’t much for him to do. He had no friends. He had quite a few people he was  _ friendly _ with, like Cedric. And some people who had decided to use his ability to shapeshift as a carte-blanche to ask him to change into someone or change his hair to some colour.

He seriously considered demanding money for it. If anything, it was practise. It wasn’t too different from last year when they were still back home, but the new people didn’t have any qualms about him due to his unknown parentage.

Sometimes he wondered, with an idle thought and a soft headache, how they’d react if they knew about Harry. He squashed the thought quickly, but never before imagining their shocked faces.

###

“You look lost, Edward Lupin,” a voice to his left made him turn around, finding himself staring at… Luna Scamander. No. Her name was Lovegood, wasn’t it? He remembered, though he only half listened as he saw her the first time. She was not too different, the same expression on her face, the same distant eyes, the same inflections when she spoke.

“I’m not,” Teddy said. “And it’s Teddy. All my friends call me Teddy.”

“You have friends?” she asked. He knew she didn’t mean it that way, but the question still caused him to flinch. Rather than take notice of his reaction, she continued, pointing at herself. “Would you consider us friends?”   
  


He’d consider her his aunt, if he was being honest. But at this age, friends sounded much more reasonable. “I guess.”

She lit up like a Christmas tree. Her smile was so strong, it was only paralleled by the grip she managed to bring around his arm to drag him to his next class that they had together. The class he didn’t want to go to.

Though he wished to talk to his father, Teddy was held back by his lack of confidence. A conversation that did not happen could not go wrong, after all, and nobody could blame him for avoiding the man to the best of his ability until he could gather up the courage for a conversation filled with lies.

Nobody could blame him that he had managed to avoid the awkward conversation until this Friday, when their first DADA class of the year was happening. It was Friday a week after the term started, as the full moon night had taken too much of a toll on Remus to hold his class that previous week.

The classroom was large, he noticed. And all the chairs and tables were in the back. Remus stood in front of a box, held shut by chains and locks.

“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Lovegood, Mr… Lupin,” Remus said, awkwardly fumbling as he spoke Teddy’s name.

“Teddy’s fine,” Teddy mumbled. Remus nodded at him.

“I know you’re a new student, and the classrooms can be a bit hard to find, so I won’t deduct any points today,” he said. The Hufflepuffs sighed in relief. “But please don’t make this a habit.”

Teddy nodded. In his capacity as a teacher, it was much easier to talk to Remus. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so afraid after all. Remus tapped his wand against the box, which caused it to shake violently. The students all took a step back, scared by the sudden motion.

“Today, as our first lesson of the year, we are going to take a look at a rather common dark creature, which has a habit of hiding in dark places in various wizarding homes,” Remus said. “Can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?”

Luna’s hand went up, as did half of the other Ravenclaw’s. A few Hufflepuffs did as well. Luna was picked.

“A Boggart is a creature that feeds on people’s fear. It takes the shape of its targets greatest fears and scares them to eat.”

“Correct, though people are always hesitant to use the feeding as interpretation,” Remus said, nodding. “Five points to Ravenclaw. Another five points to whoever can answer what other possibility exists for their physiology. Teddy?”

“A d-defense mechanism?” Teddy tried. He knew that the only things that really ‘fed’ on negative emotions such as fear were Dementors, and considering Boggarts weren’t prone to sucking people’s souls out as well, it probably wasn’t actual feeding.

“Correct, they’re not prone to seeking people out, though they don’t shy from them. Today, we are learning the essential spell that can cause Boggarts to flee. It’s named after its incantation, the Riddikulus spell can turn Boggarts into something to laugh at instead, which causes them to flee. Repeat after me. Riddikulus.”

“Riddikulus,” the class spoke in tandem.

Remus smiled at them. “Good, now, the wand motion is simple, though not as important as the intent behind it. What you must do is imagine something so funny that the Boggart will take its shape. Once you are all confident with casting the spell, we shall put it to practise.”

Teddy couldn’t help but smile as well. DADA was his favourite class, though he felt strange. He remembered Harry told him that he had learned this spell in third year, but from what he recalled of Harry’s second year… maybe there wasn’t much to learn there and they had to catch up.

The smile turned upside down when the actual challenge game. When Remus was left satisfied with their pronunciation of the incantation, it was time to face the Boggart.

Luna had left his side and made her way to the end of the line. He was not far from the first. The box opened up and revealed a bear for the first boy in front. A quick spell through shuddering teeth made it yellow, with a big pot of honey in its arms.

The second boy faced a monster from an old school movie Teddy recalled watching when George Weasley was babysitting them. It, too, was vanquished in much the same way, turning into a wooden version of itself and falling onto the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

Teddy felt bad for still not remembering the names of his classmates, but he did remember the next one. A girl named Trudy or something or other, she was confident, as was expected of someone of her… standing. It was funny how easy spotting purebloods was sometimes.

She wasn’t as confident when a werewolf jumped out. Remus, too, wasn’t too thrilled at the sight, but none of the other students seemed to notice. Trudy still raised her wand, but her spell was not enough, merely shrinking the werewolf to a more manageable size instead of what he assumed would be a puppy. She took a few steps back, letting Remus shoo the boggart back into the box.

“Teddy?” Remus called. Teddy swallowed, stepping forward.

Teddy hesitated. It wasn’t easy to face one’s fears, after all. Though his father was encouraging, as he was with all the other students, it was not a gentle step that brought him towards the box containing the Boggart.

The box shook before it opened. Rather than jump at him and cause him to shout in fright, thin fingers grasped the door of the box and slowly opened it, pushing out to look as human as possible.

Teddy felt his knees grow weak. Remus took a step back, a hand on his chest and his legs shaking, his face paler than moonlight. 

The Boggart looked down at him, disdain glistening behind green eyes, disapproval in his stance. Squared shoulders, a sneer that would make Professor Snape proud.

“You’re a disappointment,” Harry said, his words cutting. “I have raised you, taken you in as my own son, and you spit in the face of this goodwill.”

“James?” Remus croaked out. The other students looked confused. Teddy’s breathing stopped, he tried to shuffle backwards as the Boggart stepped forward.

“Looks like you have everything you wanted,” Harry said, his voice echoing through the room, but his eyes pierced the man to Teddy’s left, who had finally pulled out his wand. “We don’t need you, so stay with your father. There’s no place for another child.”

Remus stepped forward, the Boggart shifting into the image of a moon. With a quick spell, the moon turned into a balloon. Teddy clawed at the ground, forcing himself to stand up despite his legs feeling like jelly. Before Remus could shout his name to stop him, he had shoved his way through his classmates and out of the classroom.

###

He knew it was coming. The questions. The doubts. The stares that his classmates were giving him had made him even more uncomfortable in what little time he spent in the common room. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand touched him on his back, trying to get his attention. He spun around, slightly too fast, and fell again.

His eyes followed the hand that offered itself to help him up and found the face of Professor Sprout, his head of house. He took her hand, nodding in thanks as she helped him and found himself in the charms classroom, where he must have nodded off.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said. He cast a quick spell to check for the time, a watch conjuring itself in his hand and vanishing as he let go. He must be halfway through the next class. “I seem to be late. If you’ll-”

He didn’t get much further than a single step before her hand was on his shoulder, stopping him. He turned around after a sigh. Her eyes were soft, but her grip firm.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked. She shook her head.

“The headmaster would like you to join him for a cup of tea. I’ve already given Professor Snape notice.”

Teddy blinked. The headmaster wanted to see him? His heart sank. His father must’ve given the old headmaster a reason. The words kept echoing in his mind. He knew, objectively, that Harry would never have said anything so cruel. That even in the worst of times, Harry had nothing but compassion and endless love for his children, among which he counted.

Or did count. That was the crux of the issue. In the face of his ability to  _ choose _ , Teddy felt lost. He no longer  _ needed _ to live with Harry. And Harry no longer needed to raise him.

He hated that about himself.

And he hated the feeling that came up whenever he thought about his parents, Remus and Nymphadora. The angry feeling that they had left to die, even though he knew from Harry that there was so much more at stake than just their lives.

And now, between a rock and a hard place, he felt like they were chained to his legs and he was being pulled down the currents of a raging river.

Professor Sprout gave the password to the gargoyle in front of the headmaster’s office, and within a minute they found themselves in front of the door. It swung open without much prompting, leaving Teddy to observe the headmaster’s phoenix flying in front of it to greet them with a soft song. Smiling at it, Teddy entered together with his head of house.

“Please, have a seat Mr. Lupin,” the headmaster offered, waving towards the chair in front of the desk. Teddy did, watching as Professor Sprout did the same next to him. The headmaster’s office was neat and tidy, though his desk was rather cluttered with a few papers, of which many were newspapers involving various stories of the past few weeks. A swish of his wand, and the papers banished themselves into a cabinet near the wall. “How are you adjusting to your classes? I hope you don’t mind me prying a bit, it’s rare that we have transfer students.”

“I’m doing fine,” Teddy said. He wasn’t lying, when it came to wandwork he was capable, Harry’s laissez-faire attitude towards underage magic and his willingness to tutor him was a wonderful way to see to that. “I’m doing well in class.”

“I’ve heard praises from a few teachers,” Dumbledore said, his eyes moving to Professor Sprout, a soft smile playing on his face. “I’m glad you’re adjusting well, though Pomona has told me that you’re not interacting much with your classmates.”

“Ah.” Teddy shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable at the scrutiny. It was hard making friends, and he’d be the first to admit that it was more his fault than theirs, but the only person he could confide in was a year younger than him and keeping herself so busy he hadn’t had time to talk to her since the term started. “I’m not a people person, headmaster.”

There was that expression again. Not one of understanding, but one that he saw on the faces of his classmates on their first dinner. Pity? What would the headmaster pity him over?

“I understand, it’s difficult to connect to people who have already gathered a group of friends around them.” Dumbledore’s words made him frown. Teddy wasn’t exactly sure how Dumbledore was getting that from what he would personally call a valid excuse to not make friends, but the history books spoke of the man’s antics and weirdness, so perhaps this was just an expression of those. “Your uncle had told Severus about your mother. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, my mother,” Teddy repeated, his voice tight. He could feel his ears heat up as he remembered the woman in Diagon Alley. Nymphadora Tonks. Someone who had talked to him so casually, as if there was nothing weird about it.

And there shouldn’t be.

By no means should there be anything weird about it.

“You live with your aunt and uncle now, yes?”

Teddy almost jumped at the question. His shoulders went stiff despite his attempts to give a casual shrug. His eyes met those of the headmaster, and he cursed his inability to keep his voice at its normal pitch when he answered. “Y-yes, they were kind enough to take me in.”

“It’s good, being able to rely on family in trying times.” Dumbledore hummed, putting his hands on the desk. “I also understand that being so far away can cause a bit of distress, if you wanted I could contact them so you can visit over the weekends. It’s an open offer for people who have difficulties adjusting.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Teddy spoke up perhaps slightly too fast. He felt his face flush. “I like it here, so please don’t call my pa-guardians. Please don’t call my guardians.”

Dumbledore blinked. Professor Sprout made a noise he couldn’t quite place.

“Mr. Lupin,” Professor Sprout said. “Professor Lupin has approached me earlier, in my capacity as your head of house, to mention an incident that had happened in his class recently. The Boggart did not take the form of Mr. Greengrass.”

“That’s…” Teddy started, trying to find some excuse. Something that would make sense. A tinge of truth in a scripture of lies. “My godfather. He’s the one who raised me. My mother died long ago, but Mr. Gre—my uncle thought it would make people ask fewer questions if we pretended she had died recently.”

Dumbledore nodded. Teddy knew it’d sound like some way to save face, as purebloods are wont to do. That way, if people asked why he hadn’t taken guardianship beforehand, he could claim his guardian didn’t tell Leonidas about his sister’s death.

“And that godfather of yours, he’s a good man?”

Teddy frowned at the question. He wasn’t disinclined to answer, but the nature of the questions were beginning to become too personal for his comfort. “What kind of question is that? Of course he’s good, he took me in and raised me when my father die… disappeared.”

It was Dumbledore’s turn to frown, his expression revealing him somewhat lost. Professor Sprout coughed, making Teddy look towards her.

“Professor Lupin has… no memories of ever being with your mother,” she said, sounding dubious. “We understand that your circumstances are complicated, and far be it from me to push you on this, but the form and the words of the Boggart are often a reflection of fears we do not understand ourselves.”

_ How so? _ He wanted to ask. To him, the Boggart’s appearance as well as the words were clear as day. They played on his greatest fear, losing his family, losing the people who have treated him as a son and whom he had stopped calling father and mother when they told him the truth about what had happened to his parents.

Not because he didn’t see him as his parents, but because he wanted to honour the people who had died in that cruel war so he could live in peace.

But of course, from the perspective of an outsider, Teddy imagined it must have looked quite different.

“Why are you so afraid of calling him here, then? Does it have to do with why he hadn’t contacted Mr. Lupin to take care of you?”

“Because he’s busy,” Teddy said, crossing his arms. “And the Greengrasses just lost their daughter. I don’t get why you’re having me sit here telling you about my family, Astoria’s been hit much harder.”

He felt bad for throwing his aunt under the bus, but he couldn’t stand the poking at his lies. The stories that he was folding onto each other to find a way and keep the tenuous peace for his sisters.

“Of course, I’ve considered speaking with her as well,” Dumbledore said, nodding along. “Things are difficult, I understand. Please know that all your professors and me, as headmaster and guardian of all who dwell in Hogwarts, will help you no matter what.”

Teddy’s fists clenched under his crossed arms. Something about this just felt awkward. Why hadn’t he just asked him about Harry?

Why were they treating him like he was going to break at the slightest touch?

The pieces fell into place. Remus’ perspective, Professor Sprout asking his classmates for details, the headmaster gauging his reaction to calling his guardians.

Teddy blinked. He had thought the man was calling him because Remus had told him about the Boggart looking suspiciously like Harry Potter, but that wasn’t the case. They were looking for signs of abuse. He felt his hair go through various shades of angry and bright colours until they settled on a radiating red and orange. “Harry would never—”

He slapped his hands onto his mouth, as if he could take back his words, only succeeding at splitting his lip when it was cut by his teeth. Dumbledore’s eyes flashed between confusion, upset and finally understanding.

Just as the pieces had fallen into for Teddy. He felt a pit in his stomach, and stood with shaky legs. Professor Sprout wanted to stop him, but Dumbledore’s hand rose to prevent her from doing so. Teddy took his bag and stumbled out of the room.

###

Rufus was Minister of Magic, sooner than back in Harry’s time, and certainly just as bothersome. While he knew that Amelia Bones trusted the man, and Daphne trusted Amelia Bones as her predecessor’s work was nothing but worthy of respect, it was hard for him to see the war-hardened man who ended up pretending the world was fine while it was on fire as anything but a stand-in for Fudge, and it would take many years for that image to change.

The fact that Arthur Weasley somehow had accepted an offer to become a… deputy of sorts, to the Minister was the most surprising thing to come out of this election. He would be delegated work in the Wizengamot to take care of the Legislative issues that arose, allowing him to tip the scales with his own vote, as well as the person to approach as the new head of the Department of Petitioners. Daphne voiced her approval when she had read the news. Arthur would make good use of the power he had been given, and Scrimgeour seemed more than happy to rub his presence under everyone’s nose during the sessions.

“Lily, this is food, not shampoo,” Harry chided the girl as she leaned over the plate, her hair draped over cut fruits. She looked up, her hair glistening in the sheen of a squashed banana.

“This is boring,” Atty spoke up. Daphne walked in with her mother in tow, stopping to stare at the source of the upset tone.

“What is?” she asked. Atty didn’t pout, for pouting was unladylike and she was certainly a  _ lady _ , but she grumbled.

“Teddy’s back at Hogwarts and I’m here alone,” Atty said. Lily blew a raspberry. A few pieces of fruit ended up on Atty’s head. To her credit, she didn’t complain, opting to throw the pieces back at her sister instead, stopping only when Harry raised an eyebrow at the antics. “I… I want to visit Uncle Bill.”

Harry took a sharp breath through his nose. Daphne mirrored him, moving towards her daughter to wrap her up in a hug. Lucinda looked a bit lost, sitting down as the scene played out in front of her.

“I know I can’t,” Atty said quickly before she was smothered up in the hug. Her next words were muffled, and undecipherable. Lily had moved out of her chair to join the hug, making Atty’s muffled words frantic. “Mum, I think Lily’s bleeding over my trousers.”

It was Harry’s turn to jump up and out of his seat. A tissue in hand, he pulled Lily off her sister and held it under her nose. That wasn’t where the blood was coming from, though. He turned her head, seeing a small drip of it leaving her ear. Daphne was kneeling next to them, her heart sinking.

“It’s acting up,” Harry said. Lily smiled at them, as if trying to reassure them, but Harry’s frown merely deepened. He cast a few spells over her, his own healing expertise from the years of research leaving very little capable of hiding from him. If anyone knew their daughter’s condition better than anyone else, it would be him. “If it doesn’t stop in five mintues, we’ll have to take her to St. Mungos.”

Daphne nodded. Harry scooped his youngest up and took her back to his chair, continuing to hold the tissue to her ear in one hand and feeding the girl with the other. Daphne took Atty by the hand.

“We need a healer here,” Daphne said, her voice low. Harry frowned. “I know you’re capable, but you aren’t always here. I think… I think I’d call Andromeda.”

“Once we have Sirius,” Harry whispered, his frown deepening. “You… should be careful, though.”

“I know she’s not the same woman I became friends with,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “But it’s fine, I don’t need a friend, I need someone capable of stabilizing my daughter if something happens.”

Harry nodded. Daphne returned the nod with a smile.

“Come, we’ll get you cleaned up,” Daphne said. “I’ve recently made a friend who told me about a playground where a lot of kids are after school hours, maybe we can go there?”

“Yes,” Atty said, walking out of the room with her mother. Her eyes, however, never left Lily. “That sounds good.”

“It never gets easier, does it?” Harry clenched his teeth at the words, his eyes moving to his mother-in-law. Lucinda looked devastated, much more than he did himself. Though Leonidas was half-grudging, half-willing to accept them, Lucinda was absolutely eager to have grandchildren and spoil them rotten. To Leonidas, Harry was an unfortunate side effect of having his daughter cured. To Lucinda, Harry and the children were family.

“It gets harder to hide from the others, it gets more painful as time goes on,” Lucinda said. Harry flinched. “You’re so much stronger than me, though. I had given up already.”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. Lily was starting to grow tired, but fortunately the bleeding had stopped. Lucinda’s eyebrows went up. He continued. “You’re wrong, I’m not strong at all. I’m powerful when it comes to magic, but when it comes to my family, I’m as soft as this tissue paper.”

He held it up, out of sight from Lily. It shone with the bright red blood of his daughter, vanishing into nothing as he cast the vanishment spell. Lucinda said nothing, letting him instead coax Lily into her well-earned nap.

Of course, the relaxed atmosphere was not meant to be. Minutes later, when Daphne left with Lily and Atty to wash their hands, another two owls arrived, bearing not newspapers but letters. Both of them were of the same species of owl, the kind that Hogwarts held for students and teachers to use at their leisure.

One of the letters was plain and simple, folded neatly and addressed to him. The other, intricate and inside an envelope that was only used by the headmaster and his deputy headmistress, was much more concerning.

For it was also addressed to him.

Harry felt a pit in his stomach when he took them both, pointing at the owl treats in the corner of the dining room. He opened the simple letter first, assuming correctly that it was written by Teddy. A short read of the shaky handwriting ended up causing the nausea to increase. Handing Lily over to Lucinda, he stood up, grabbing the headmaster’s letter.

Harry walked out of the kitchen, holding Dumbledore’s letter in one hand. Daphne passed him, still holding Atty’s hand, though the oldest daughter had new and clean clothes on. One glance at his expression and the paper in his hands told her everything, but she still had to ask.

“Where are you going?” 

He pointed at the plain letter on the table.

“Hogwarts,” he said, putting on his jacket.


	11. I Have Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for answers.

###  ### Chapter 11: I Have Questions

In the end, Teddy had decided to clear the air between himself and his father. The awkward conversation and the inevitable mess that he had caused were things Teddy could only blame himself for, so before he was dragged out the door, he had to have this conversation.

Not that he was afraid Harry would be furious. In the end, Harry had promised him that it would be his choice how open he wanted to be, and it was Teddy’s choice to keep some things from the people at school, including his father. No matter what, he could never consider his reasons bad. Astoria and Lily were worth lying a hundred lies for. Or ninety-nine when Astoria grabbed Lily’s favourite pudding out of the fridge.

The tea in front of him had already gone completely cold before either of them began speaking.

“I’m—” Remus began.

“I—” Teddy began, at the same time.

They blinked at each other, trying to laugh it off, and ending in more awkward silence.

“Go ahead,” Remus said. Teddy nodded, opening his mouth and closing it again a few times before finding the words he wished to say.

“I didn’t mean to avoid you,”

“I would understand if you did.”

And the silence continued. Teddy found himself growing frustrated with it. He stood up, pacing around the room. Lies with specks of truth? He would just mess up even more. Just lie. Just keep lying. Just—

“I noticed immediately,” Remus said. Teddy’s heart skipped a beat and his pacing stopped. “That you were my son. The headmaster had given me a heads up, of course, but even if he hadn’t, the nose doesn’t lie.”

He tapped his nose. Teddy shrugged.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have come to Hogwarts,” Teddy said. For once, no lies. He was spilling his heart, and yet the distance between him and his father made it clear just how willing he was to take this leap of faith. “That if I hadn’t, both of us would be better off.”

Remus nodded. “Ignorance is bliss, as they say. I unders—”

“But!” Teddy said quickly, almost biting his tongue. “But I don’t regret it. I would regret not meeting you much, much more.”

That made Remus smile. Teddy felt awful when he smiled back.

“I know I have no right to take care of you,” Remus said, standing up and taking a few steps towards Teddy. He didn’t step back. “And whatever happened that caused your mother to hide you from me, believe me, I’m sorry about it.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“But it is. I… assume you know about my condition?” Teddy nodded at him. Remus’ head sank, his chin touching his chest. “I… can’t remember being with your mother, Leonidas Greengrass’s sister? Nights around the full moon are often a haze, and back then, things were even worse for me. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I was at my worst.”

Teddy listened. He listened and he understood. And yet, as he understood and nodded along, he felt miserable. Remus was creating stories in his head to justify something that he had no way of knowing was wrong.

There was a term for it. Teddy remembered reading it in one of those spy thrillers he liked a couple of years ago. Something about gas.

“It’s not your fault,” Teddy repeated. Remus raised his head, looking at him with wide eyes. “And even if things don’t make sense right now, I promise they will one day.”

“Ahaha.” Remus shrugged, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “It’s hard to tell which one of us is supposed to be the adult right now, isn’t it?”

“No,” Teddy denied, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t feel very mature right now.”

“You’re definitely more mature than most children your age, I’m glad to see you’ve been raised right. However…”

“However?” Teddy repeated, raising an eyebrow. Remus knelt, looking him straight in the eye and giving him a reassuring smile. 

“If you’re uncomfortable at home,” Remus said, looking around as he put a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “Or if he kicks you out, you’ll always have a place with me.”

“He wouldn’t,” Teddy mumbled. 

“You don’t know that,” Remus said. Teddy flinched. The tone was so callous, and it made him more than just unhappy. He felt sick in his stomach. “He looked like an old friend of mine, but that didn’t make me blind. What kind of person would cause such fear in their own charge?”

“It was just a stupid Boggart, I don’t understand why everyone’s taking this so seriously.” 

“The Boggart shows the reflection of your greatest fears,” Remus said, his voice small. Pitiful. Pitying. Teddy frowned.

“You just don’t get it, Remus!” Teddy’s voice rose. He shrugged the man’s hand off, his hair and face turning into a furious orange. “Because you’ve not grown up with him, you don’t understand just how good he is to me! I don’t  _ fear him _ , I fear  _ losing _ him, because you may be my father, but he’s my  _ dad _ .”

It felt good saying it. So good it came with a heavy load of guilt that blew a strong wind into his face, leaving his eyes glistening with tears. Since that summer before his first Hogwarts year, he had stopped calling Harry and Daphne Dad and Mum. He honestly thought it would stop being awkward, but it never did.

And when he saw that heartbreak on Remus’ face, he found his own anger dissipated. Teddy reached out with a shaking hand, putting it on the man’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you have nothing to be sorry about. It’s me who should apologize,” Remus said, his eyes downcast. “I’ve felt weird about this, because I know, instinctually, you’re my son. Even if I can’t remember your mother, even if I’m too late to claim any sort of responsibility, I want the best for you.”

“He only had the best things to say about you,” Teddy admitted. Remus looked surprised, his eyebrows rising, and mouth slightly agape. “He said you were brave, a good man. He knows you, even if you don’t know him.”

“I’m not so sure he knows me,” Remus said, looking away. The man’s fingers dug into his own shirt, not sounding too flattered. “But I’d be glad to meet him one day.”

“One day,” Teddy said. He clenched his hand over the man’s shirt, his fingers gripping the fabric tightly. “One day I’ll tell you everything.”

“I know you will,” Remus said, smiling. “You’re my son, after all. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Teddy said. Despite the awkwardness, he smiled back. “I am.”

###

Harry arrived at Hogwarts by apparition, as close as he could before he had to continue the rest of the way by foot. To avoid any awkward questions, he had swung his wand around him and ended up adding layers of illusions that would make him look like a student. The uniform looked great on him still, of course.

The castle, stalwart as always, stared down at him. He glared up at the tower where the Headmaster’s Office was and made his way through one of the secret tunnels from Hogsmeade into the castle.

And down the hallways which held not one name of the brave, fallen students who had fought the Death Eaters, over flights of stairs that spun around at their leisure, and through the long way towards the Gargoyle which protected the office’s door, Harry had found himself standing where he wished he would never stand again.

He showed the Gargoyle the letter, and it jumped out of the way.

And that is how Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore met again.

For one of them, it has been the worst part of over four weeks. For the other, it has been over seventeen long and happy years.

When Dumbledore gave him a smile, Harry’s wand was out and pushed the man into his chair. Fawkes cawed in anger, but did not fly at him. Dumbledore lifted his hand. Harry put his wand away, feeling like he had made his point, and joined Dumbledore at the desk, taking his own seat.

“You’re angry,” Dumbledore concluded. Harry nodded. “If you had trusted me enough to confide in me, perhaps this could have been avoided.”

“Don’t try to turn this around on me, you don’t know my circumstances,” Harry said, pointing a finger in accusation. “You can guess, you can gauge it based on your outdated views of the person I was seventeen years ago. It shouldn’t be too difficult to see what made me upset.”

“If I had to guess,” Dumbledore mumbled. “It would be your peace being disrupted, it would not do to have another Harry Potter run around after one just… died.”

“No, Albus,” Harry said, tapping the desk with his finger. The man’s gaze moved down, watching the motion for a moment before looking up. Harry took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not angry about being dragged out of hiding, I’m much, much more upset that you would allow second year students to face a Boggart.”

“I don’t decide the curriculum for the various classes, it’s at the discretion of the professors to decide what is appropriate,” Dumbledore reminded him. He still leaned back into his chair, folding his hands over his lap. “Though I agree that it was excessive in this case, and I shall have a talk so that such things do not repeat in the future.”

“Cruel,” Harry said, pursing his lips. “The word you’re looking for isn’t excessive, it’s cruel. I remember my own third year, when my greatest fear was the image of my parents dying over and over again. That was what you were doing to those children. Your hands-off administration of this school breeds malcontents.”

If Dumbledore felt insulted, he did not show it. Harry wasn’t certain if the man was still in shock that he had actually arrived or perhaps in ecstasy at the idea of having someone who would no doubt be intimately familiar with Voldemort’s plans in the future.

_ Or maybe _ , he thought, remembering the words of his parents-in-law about the headmaster’s reaction to his death,  _ maybe he’s just happy to see me alive _ .

“I can see that perspective,” Dumbledore said. “We’ve misinterpreted the Boggart’s appearance as abuse, and have caused young Mr. Lupin more distress than necessary. I’m afraid that besides the assurance that this shan’t happen again, there’s not much to be done. The young man’s father—”

“Please, do us both a favour and don’t think of me as the same boy you’ve had to scrape off the wall in Privet Drive,” Harry said, not enjoying the shudder that went over Dumbledore’s body in the slightest. “I’m a father, I can  _ imagine _ what went through Remus Lupin’s head when he had decided to do this. I’ll do you the same courtesy I expect you to give me and assume you’re not stupid.”

“I’ve had suspicions,” Dumbledore admitted. Harry frowned.

“You’re as intelligent as you’re powerful, if you have suspicions, the least you could have done is begin this conversation by being honest. Did he expect his greatest fear to be something to bond over? A big spider? A clown? Maybe Snape?”

“Harry, please.” Dumbledore’s hand rose, stopping the rant before it could begin in earnest. “I understand you’re upset, I understand your circumstances have not left you with many options, but you cannot begrudge a father’s attempt to find some common ground with his son.”

“At the expense of the traumatizing of an entire class of second years, yes,” Harry said drily. “You’re as always the paragon of justification. Everyone is just filled to the brim with good intentions.”

“I  _ am _ sorry,” Dumbledore said, his voice hoarse. “I truly am.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. The words ‘I would be too’ were dancing on his tongue, but his thoughts strayed. He closed his eyes, taking another deep breath and thought of Daphne and his daughters. He thought of Teddy, who was apparently fearing  _ him _ so much that a Boggart decided to take his appearance. His heart sank into his stomach. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve never let Teddy come here, but I thought a bit of routine would be good for him. Out of all of us, he’s been hit the hardest.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did all of this happen?”

“You’re a clever man, you’ll figure it out,” Harry said, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. He leaned back in the chair, watching Fawkes as phoenix cleaned itself with its beak. “The more important question is where to go from here. I can pull Teddy out, but that won’t resolve the issue with Remus, would it?”

“You could speak with him,” Dumbledore suggested. Harry shook his head.

“I’m trying my best to stay under the radar, I’m not aiming to have everyone know I’m still around or where I’m staying, and this courtesy call is because you’ve forced my hand by subjecting Teddy to a terrifying experience.”

“Do you have that little trust in Remus?”

“I trust him with my life,” Harry said, clenching a fist over his chest. “I do not trust him with the life of my family.”

_ I don’t trust him with the life of his own family _ , Harry thought. Dumbledore sat in silence, taking the words in. It took a minute before the old man spoke up again.

“I wouldn’t remove him from the school, but I believe a few days with you might do him some good,” Dumbledore said. Harry nodded, finding no reason to disagree with the idea. “I’m assuming whatever brought you back… destroyed your younger self, as well as Ms. Greengrass.”

Harry nodded.

“And young Mr. Lupin’s mother? Mr. Greengrass’ sister?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, and found himself unable to say it. If he was able to keep Dumbledore in the dark, who already knew much more than others, then nobody else would know either.

So fortunately, unless the man was giving him an act that would make the Academy proud, Dumbledore assumed that the ‘price’ for their return was one life for another. Teddy, who had no younger self, would have taken the life of his mother.

He found his thoughts straying to Tonks, wondering how she was doing. If she was happy right now.

So Harry held his tongue, letting that be his answer. Dumbledore nodded, content with it, and unable to dig holes into this.

“That leaves me with just one more thing to ask.” Dumbledore sounded somber. Harry had known this question would come, and he was no more prepared now than he was when he thought of it. “Voldemort, will you fight him?”

“No,” Harry said. He was already fighting, in a way, but if everything went according to plan, an actual  _ fight _ wouldn’t happen. Dumbledore frowned, not looking very pleased with the swift rejection. “I have a list of priorities, things I will do  _ unconditionally _ , and things I won’t. You can guess which one old Tom would belong to.”

“Would you really have me pay you for your help?” Dumbledore’s question was marred with the tone of a man at the end of his wits. Harry shook his head, and watched with growing irritation as hope lit up in the man’s eyes. “Then is there anything else I can do for you?”

“There is nothing you can give me that would balance out the danger to my family,” Harry admitted freely. Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Harry lifted his hand to stop him. “And before you speak of things that are right and things that are easy, let me tell you,  _ I did everything right _ . I have  _ earned _ to take it easy for once in my life.”

Albus sighed. “I suppose so. Would it be too much to ask you to share information, at least?”

“I have not once regretted my actions under your guidance,” Harry said, ignoring the question. The deliberate choice of words made Albus’ frown deepen, the age in his eyes showing. “In that regard, I would like you to pay me back. You have told me to trust you. Extend that same courtesy to me.”

“I do trust you, Harry. It is Voldemort I do not trust, even if you decide to keep out of his way, he will seek you out. It is in his nature.”

“You have that in common, really.” Harry sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Dumbledore’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t mean this as an insult, but after being the subject of a prophecy, I can’t help but feel I’m the most suited person to tell you why they’re awful.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“However,” Harry said, slapping a hand onto the table. “Do not misunderstand. If he came back, somehow, as unlikely as that is considering the circumstances, and no, I do not believe I will clarify, then let him come.” His voice was fierce. A challenge, not unlike the one Dumbledore had uttered towards the Death Eaters and their sympathizers during his speech at Harry’s funeral. “I will crush him and all that stands with him. I will summon down the constellations and crush him, take whatever is left of that mangled piece of his soul and give it to the Fey.”

Albus twitched at the mention of the (un)fair folk. “That doesn’t sound like a boasting threat.”

“Because it’s not,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. “And it’s not just a threat towards him. I will do that to anyone who dares harm my family. I understand that this is the kind of theatrical statement that you will see many fathers make, I assure you, to me it is more serious than that. This is not an oath, this is my malediction.”

Dumbledore’s hand clenched under the table. Harry saw the motion, but said nothing. He took a deep breath, watching as the man digested the statement and waited for him to acknowledge the words with a small nod.

“Let me be clear, Albus,” Harry said, finding his hand near his nose, tracing his scar. He spoke not in anger or irritation of a teenager. He spoke with the voice of a man on a mission. “The Potters are a normal family. They do not fight Dark Lords, they do not appear on the frontpage of every newspaper, and as I told Lucius Malfoy one day in the not too distant past, they do  _ not _ become part of these… games.”

Silence returned to the table as Dumbledore was looking for the right words to say. His expression settled into a soft smile, and the words that bubbled up formed a single question. “Are you happy?”

Harry blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of the question. He understood that his memories of the man were clouded by the haze of a misspent youth, and that Dumbledore was by far not exactly the same kind of person that he remembered. Even if he was, the events surrounding his younger self’s death sent a few people into a spiral out of which they did not return the same.

“I’ve never been happier,” Harry admitted. Dumbledore would find out about his daughters, but there was no need to make it easy for him. “Love is truly the greatest magic of them all.”

Dumbledore’s eyes lit up in joy. The soft smile turned into a visible grin, which looked strange on such a bearded face.

“Your wife, Ms. Greengrass,” Dumbledore said. Harry nodded. “Or Mrs. Potter, I suppose. I would love to hear how that happened.”

“I could tell you about this great story, involving soul mates and beautiful night skies from which I would steal every star to give to her so that I could see her smile,” Harry said, trying his best to sound as bored as possible. “Or I could tell you about that awkward moment when I confused her with someone else from behind and she said yes to a date before I could apologize for the mistake.”

His bad eyesight without his glasses used to be a curse to him, but nowadays he considered it a blessing. What once was a weird blonde blob that he asked to accompany him to a Slug Club date became his wife once they graduated.

Dumbledore chuckled. “It’s good to have you back, Harry.”

Harry sighed, standing up. He walked around the desk, giving Fawkes a pat on the head before continuing to the headmaster, who had stood up as well. Harry hesitated for a moment as the man lifted his hand for a firm shake. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the old man. The hug was returned in earnest. Whatever his feelings were on the matter, it was difficult for him to consider the headmaster as anything else than a grandfather who had guided him through his most difficult times.

“It’s good to have you back as well, Professor,” Harry said. “Please call Teddy up to the office. I have something to do before leaving with him.”

Dumbledore nodded, all too happy. When Harry left, he didn’t ask where to. Such was the trust between the old headmaster and his student.

###

Harry arrived on the seventh floor after a quick trip down into the Chamber. Myrtle has apparently moved on from the bathroom, and a quick glance out of the window revealed her floating around his empty grave, waiting for a sign of un-death. The basilisk fang would be a nice addition to his small quest of ruining a few horcruxes.

Fortunately the classes were in session, so he did not have to dodge too many people being out and about. The hallway which the room of requirement sat in hadn’t changed, of course, and with a few paces here and there, he ended up finding himself a door inside.

But it wasn’t the room he was looking for.

He blinked, stumbling over a few bottles of butterbeer and into a scene that was equal parts infuriating as it was appalling.

Astoria Greengrass, his sister-in-law, and an eleven year old witch in her first year at Hogwarts, was sipping a cup of firewhiskey. He raised his wand, vanishing the cup and the bottle next to it. Astoria looked up in her drunken haze, her eyes red and puffy. Harry could feel his heart sink.

“Right,” she said, the word stretching on as she tried to stand. “Hullo, Harry Potter!”

She raised her hand, noticing the lack of a cup. With a frown, the room returned it to her, empty. The next bottle that appeared was blasted apart instead of vanished. Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Teddy told you about the room,” he said. Astoria nodded, the motion causing her to lose her balance. A couch appeared next to her, catching her before she could fall. She hiccuped, though the sound was closer to a stifled sob than anything else. “I don’t suppose you have a good reason for this, do you?”

“People in novels, they always drink when they have a bad day,” Astoria said, her arm in front of her eyes. 

“And you’re saying you’re having a bad day?” Harry’s voice was tight, the dangerous edge on it caused the girl to drag her arm out of the way and stare. He frowned, noticing the… expertise might not be a good word, but the smoothness of the room’s changes despite Astoria’s drunken haze. “Not just today?”

The way he asked the question caused colour to return to the girl’s face. She stumbled off the couch as Harry walked towards her.

“Astoria!” He raised his voice. She shrunk, the already small girl would have looked like a toddler if it wasn’t for the sharp stench of alcohol.

“I don’t, don’t,” she stumbled over her words, looking at the ground. “I don’t get what the big deal is. Yo-you’re not supposed to be here anyway, shouldn’t you be hiding with your family?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m taking Teddy back home for the weekend. You’re coming with us.”

“No!” Astoria shouted. The sudden outburst caused her to trip again, this time landing on pillows. She clawed her way back up. “I’m fine, can’t you see, I’m  _ fine _ .”

She pointed at herself, waving her hand from head to toe. Harry looked at her with a pained expression, unable to keep his thoughts to himself. She looked everything but fine. Sunken eyes, a complexion of pale green, and from the look of those bottles of various drinks, despite the naturally high tolerance of wizards and witches, obviously drunk out of her mind.

There was a good chance that she would have escalated until the point of poisoning. Alone, in this room which nobody could find.

“I don’t want to say your parents would be disappointed,” Harry said. Her nostrils flared and she crossed her arms. “Because you know that. But what about Daphne? What do you think would be her reaction to this?”

“I don’t know,” Astoria said, growling at him. “Dead people aren’t very judgmental!”

It was Harry’s turn to deflate. This was his fault, of course, not just because of the mess involving the ritual, but for not seeing this coming. Just as he had misread Teddy, he ended up missing the obvious signs that something was wrong with Astoria as well. It was that stupid talent for acting in their family. They could make their eyes smile even if their heart was tearing asunder.

“ _ Maybe _ ,” Astoria continued, seizing the opportunity to drive the point home, “maybe your wife, your—”

She stumbled over her words, unable to bring up the virtrol and disdain necessary to say something truly hurtful. Harry took another step towards her, reaching out.

“I can’t sleep,” Astoria admitted, her voice cracking. She flinched away from his touch, almost tripping over one of the bottles. She stumbled around for a moment before she managed to stand upright. Or as upright as a drunk child could be. “Every time I close my eyes, I see her dying. All that blood.”

“I understand,” Harry said. She looked up, clearly not pleased with the stock answer, but the look in his eyes gave her pause. “I’ve gone through it, not at your age, of course, but I understand what it feels like to need a release for these feelings. Getting drunk isn’t it. Not at  _ any _ age, but as young as you are, all you’ll do is cause permanent damage to yourself, and by doing so, hurt your family.”

“Maybe they should be hurt,” Astoria said, mumbling the words. Harry frowned, shaking his head at her. “They hurt me first.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It is,” she insisted, wrapping her arms around herself. Her breathing was picking up, and the sickly green shade that her face turned to was the only warning he had to create a bucket. “They, they had me so that Daphne could live! And then you came, and suddenly everything is fine, but it isn’t! Daphne isn’t Daphne anymore! My mum cares more about  _ your _ kids than me. Teddy hasn’t talked to me  _ once _ since we’ve come here.”

Harry stepped forward, a bucket in hand. She didn’t flinch away this time when he put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m tired, Harry,” she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. She rubbed at them. “A-and I’m tired of being tired all the time.”

###

Harry walked into Dumbledore’s office with Astoria in his arms. She was asleep, and the flushing potion that he could summon with the room did most of the work to clear her system. As she breathed softly into his chest, he could hear Teddy and Dumbledore speaking, the former chatting animatedly.

“So I just finished the presentation,” Teddy continued his story, not noticing Harry behind him. Dumbledore’s eyes moved towards him and the girl in his arms, frowning. “I looked at Headmistress McGonagall and said ‘thank you for coming to my Ted talk’. The muggleborn students were howling with laugh—”

“Have you found what you were looking for?” Dumbledore asked. Teddy blinked, turning around in the chair to find Harry and Astoria. Harry frowned.

“Yes, but I also found her,” Harry said, shifting Astoria from one side to another. She burped at him, the cleansing potion still doing its work. “I apologize, but it seems that I have to take two students home for the weekend.”

Dumbledore merely nodded, understanding the unsaid plea not to ask why. Teddy stood up.

“Is everything alright with her?” he asked. Harry pursed his lips, uncertain how to answer.

“We’ll have a talk,” Harry said. “I’m sorry, Teddy.”

“No, you don’t have to be sorry,” Teddy said. He moved up to Harry, giving him a hug, careful not to wake up Astoria. “I behaved like a prat and I thought the worst of you because… I’m insecure.”

Loosening one hand from the grip on Astoria, Harry patted down on Teddy’s hair. Dumbledore’s approving smile made Harry roll his eyes. The headmaster seemed more amused by that.

“Did you tell Remus?” Harry asked. Teddy stepped back, shaking his head. “Why not?”

“Because… I don’t know,” Teddy said. “I want to trust him. I really do. He’s my father, but… he’s not you. I know you said it’s my choice, but I trust you to know what’s best.”

Sometimes, Harry wished he had that confidence that his children had in him.

“We’ll tell him soon,” Harry promised. He wasn’t sure when, maybe once Sirius was cleared? Or perhaps once all the Horcruxes have been safely destroyed and Harry could make certain none of Voldemort’s old allies would come after his family. “I promise.”

Teddy hesitated for a moment. Harry’s expression softened. Though Teddy was taller and more mature than a lot of children his age, that childish fluster was always something he could enjoy. Sometimes it would do for Teddy to act his age.

“I… want to call you Dad again,” Teddy said. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve had a talk with Remus and he’s… fine with it. I feel like I needed this closure.”

“You can call me whatever you want,” Harry said, feeling flustered himself. He rubbed at his eye. “Are you ready to go home? Atty has missed you.”

“It hasn’t even been two weeks,” Teddy explained. “How could she miss me?”

Dumbledore coughed to get their attention. He pointed at his fireplace. “You can use my Floo, if you wish. It might be easier than walking out of the castle and apparating.”

“Thank you, headmaster,” Teddy said.

“Have a good day, Albus. I’ll be sure to bring him back on Sunday.”

“And young Ms. Greengrass?” Dumbledore asked. Harry looked at the girl in his arms and frowned.

“I’m not sure.”


	12. All Eyes On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black, a Good Man.

###  ### Chapter 12: All Eyes On Me

Sirius Black, whose name had long since become synonymous with the desecration of bonds, kept his head held low as he cradled the charmed cage with thin, bony arms. The sounds of documents being shuffled caused him to twitch. The strong smell of goblin ink, made from the charred remains of those unlucky enough to receive their punishment, gave him nausea.

In a way, Sirius found that goblins had more in common with his family than he did. They were vicious, cruel and unnecessarily dramatic. The goblin in front of him, for the twenty-third time, picked up and slapped the papers down to stack them up neatly, before continuing to shuffle through them, signing half, putting half away and starting with a new stack.

He had hoped the goblins would simply turn him in—call the Aurors and be done with it. They know that bounties are only worth anything alive. But instead, he found himself greeted like an old friend. That made it worse. The uncertainty. The weirdness of it all. The feeling that something was about to go wrong.

More wrong than it already had, of course. Twelve years behind bars while everything good was being sucked out of you left a mark, regardless of how much you held onto the knowledge that you were innocent.

In a way, after half the time had passed, Sirius had wished he wasn’t. If he was guilty, and he had done what they accused him of, then he could take his punishment.

That made it worse.

Because Dementors who weren’t sucking out souls enjoyed more than just causing misery. They enjoyed leaving a speck of hope, a small light at the end of an endless tunnel, and they would let it flicker out before moving on, waiting until it sparked again before returning.

Second was the other misery that grasped his heart with fingers even thinner and smaller than his. With every beat, it reached out, trying to find kindness where there was none. Sympathy for the devil had become reality. When he heard Bellatrix scream at night, facing her own demons, he felt bad for her.

He had never thought this was possible, but somehow it had become his reality. And even still that sympathy lingered. He shook his head, watching with glee as Peter squeaked against the cage and tried to bite him through it. Electricity ran down its walls when, for the fiftieth time this past hour, the rat’s snout touched his arm. Painful squeaks, twitching legs. The goblin had a slight moment in which he hesitated from slapping the papers down for the twenty-fifth time.

The office they were in was not merely protected. It was fortified. The magic around it felt suffocating, though whether it was the intricate curse-work or the ridiculous sensitivity to environmental magic he had obtained in that accursed prison, he could not say.

Maybe they just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t flee? The Aurors should be able to arrive in minutes, but it has been over an hour by now, so what was the hold up? Sirius’ paranoia gnawed at him. It whispered to get out. It told him to move. It shouted to run.

A soft knock. The click of the door’s lock. The unnatural sound of silence as the door opened and swung into the room, revealing not the face of another goblin, though he had to admit she had the scowl down, but the face of Amelia Bones. Sirius smiled a sun-like smile with all twenty-five yellow teeth.

“Madam Bones,” he said. She leveled her wand at him. His smile widened. “I bring tribute, Good Witch of the South!”

“If you’d be so kind as to not provoke your benefactor, Mr. Black,” the goblin spoke up. He looked over to Amelia, giving her a nod. She lowered her wand, though her furious expression had not softened whatsoever. Sirius’ eyebrows rose.

“My benefactor?” he asked. Amelia walked in, the door behind her slamming shut. She didn’t look at him, her eyes instead focused on the rat in the cage. She pulled it out of this grasp. “Wait!”

Peter ran out when she opened the door, trying to bite Amelia’s hand. She didn’t let it, grabbing the thing by the neck and squeezing so tightly she might break his neck. She jabbed her wand at it. With a loud screech, Peter became human, lying at her feet, trying to crawl up. Another silent stunner saw him unconscious—whether it was the spell or the violent force of it that smashed him back onto the ground and caused his head to bang against the floor, Sirius could not say.

For good measure, she bound him in magical chains. She turned her wand to Sirius.

“I just want you to know,” he began, raising his hands in surrender, “I absolutely consent to you putting me in chains.”

She held the wand at him for a moment longer, the tip glowing with uncast spells. After a minute of silence between them, she lowered it again, sighing.

“You’re a fool, Sirius Black,” she said, hissing his name in contempt. She took a step forward, one foot onto the murderer at her feet. “And you’re the most fortunate fool I know.”

“Thank you?” he tried, hoping his words wouldn’t cause her to aim her wand at him again. “I’m a bit confused, sorry. You know I’m innocent?”

“This clears the death of Pettigrew, whether  _ he  _ was guilty of the death of those Muggles, or you were, is still open.” Amelia was unrelenting. Sirius scowled, but did not speak up, cowed by the menacing presence of the woman who had her heel on Peter’s back, the bound and stunned man unable to say anything in protest. “Or the murder of Harry Potter.”

Sirius stood. “No! I would never—”

“I  _ know _ ,” Amelia said, interrupting him. “And if you value your life, I hope you will know to mind your tongue. The goblins were kind enough to help you because of a few circumstances surrounding that mess, so  _ listen _ .”

His mouth snapped shut. When she was satisfied with the attention he was giving her, she raised her wand again.

“You have turned yourself in because you wish for a trial, to which the use of Veritaserum has been pre-approved,” she said. He nodded. “You will answer  _ every _ question, no matter how intimate and humiliating. Though the new minister is one of my most trusted friends, there are many people who want you dead, so do  _ not _ patronize the Wizengamot, do not crack jokes, do  _ not _ under  _ any _ circumstances think about making a mockery of this final chance I’m giving you. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sirius said. His voice was tiny. He felt like a Hogwarts student again. Amelia nodded.

“By the end of it, the ministry will offer you compensation,” Amelia said, sounding irritated in his stead. “A pitiful amount, that will never cover the time that has been taken from you, and will never justify their treatment of you. You’ll accept it without a second thought. Once you’ve been declared innocent of all charges, you can approach Sir Weasley of the Department of Petitioners if you really want to cause a stink.”

“Sir Weasley?” Sirius mumbled. He shook his head. “I don’t care about any compensation, I just want my freedom.”

“You  _ will _ accept it,” Amelia stressed. Peter groaned, slowly coming back to consciousness. Another stunner took care of that. “It’s a symbol of goodwill, it closes the legislative issue between Sirius of the House of Black and the Twenty-Sixth Wizengamot of the Great British Isles. It’s not a  _ formality _ , it’s  _ essential _ .”

Sirius rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing and feeling very tired all of the sudden. “I guess that’s fine. I’m… not all there, I just want this nightmare to end.”   
  


“I’m afraid that will take more than a verdict, Mr. Black,” she said, stepping up and over Peter, a swish of her wand levitating the man behind her and slamming him onto the table. She pulled out two vials of veritaserum.

“Oh,” he said, sounding unconcerned. “Still not certain I’m innocent?”

“I’m not certain about anything,” she said, swishing the liquid back and forth. “But I will give you the benefit of the doubt. I like you more than most convicts.”

###

Harry Potter felt five times his age when he walked through the floo and into the Greengrass manor, finding himself the subject of many stares. It was Leonidas’ angry stomp towards him that caused him to move, quickly raising a hand. The man stopped, if only for his wife who had grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing with my daughter, Potter?” Leonidas asked, unmasked hostility in his tone and expression. Daphne looked on, her obvious confusion increasing when Teddy came out of the floo a few seconds after, stumbling and hitting Harry in the back. Harry grunted, leaning forward and standing up straight again.

“Sorry,” Teddy said quickly. “Uh, what’s up with Astoria?”

“I found her in the Room of Requirement,” Harry said, giving Daphne a nod. She didn’t look concerned about whatever item he had in his bag, her entire focus on her sister, who looked pale and shivering, another hiccup sending streaks of vomit down the corner of her mouth. Harry grimaced. “Drunk.”

“What?” Lucinda asked, her voice rising. “She would never—what kind of room?”

“The kind of room at Hogwarts that delivers whatever you need, as long as it’s not impossible,” Harry clarified. “And she…  _ needed _ to drown her sorrows.”

“You’re mad, Potter. Astoria is barely twelve, there’s no way she would do something like that,” Leonidas’ voice turned into a low pitched growl. He stepped forward again, shaking off his wife’s arm and pulling Astoria from Harry’s grasp. The rough motion woke her up, and the flushing potion was continuing its work. She threw up on her father.

“Ew,” Atty said, standing in the doorway of the lounge. Everyone turned to her and her face scrunched up. “Ewww.”

“Go up to your room,” Daphne ordered. Atty didn’t need to be told twice, her mother’s upset voice was enough to cause her to flee. Lily’s tiny steps followed after her. Teddy looked around, guilty.

“Is that because of me?” he asked. Harry shook his head.

“No, but I think it’s best if you go check on your sisters for now,” Harry said. “We’ll clean up and have a talk. Sounds good?”

“Yes,” Teddy agreed quickly, moving out of the room with a short glance at his aunt. Lucinda, emotional as her husband, had opted for upset tears rather than heated fury.

“Dad?” Astoria whispered. He looked at her, wiping her mouth with his still clean sleeve. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Leonidas opened his mouth, unable to formulate a response. Uncertainty turned into anger, anger turned into fury, fury puffed out into a resigned sigh. Lucinda moved up to her, a shaking hand on her daughter’s face, pushing strands of hair out of her eyes. Harry could see the man’s eyes turn wet. He turned away to meet Daphne’s gaze. 

“She’s not flushing out a stupid amount of butterbeer,” Daphne said, her voice hard. The kind of voice he imagined would make any criminal soil their pants. The cold and calculating approach of the Madam of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Firewhiskey.”

Daphne stepped forward, her wand in hand and cast various spells. Diagnosis, poisons, curses, compulsions, potions, none of them came out positive except for the soft humming of the cleansing potion revealing itself in the form of a sky blue hue. Astoria’s hand reached out, grasping Daphne’s and stopping the flood of spells.

Daphne froze. Astoria’s eyes were half-lidded, her energy for the day spent and what little she had left making it hard to speak. Harry knew what she wanted to say, but it wasn’t his place to do so. So he waited and watched as the girl gathered up her courage and energy.

“Please,” Astoria said. Daphne’s other hand came up to wrap around her sister’s small fingers. Another hiccup sent shivers down the young girl’s spine. “Please give me back my sister.”

Daphne recoiled as if struck. Harry was by her side as her knees grew weak and the sheer weight of the situation crashed down on her.

Daphne’s hand rose to her mouth, in a motion that reminded Harry much of his mother-in-law. In the hurricane of feelings and happenings that led up to the start of the school term, they all had thought that Astoria was doing better. But she wasn’t.

Astoria, snapped out of her moment of weakness by the shocked faces around her, shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I meant—”

“Shush,” Harry said softly. He took Daphne’s hand, pulling her along to the table. Astoria pushed against her father until he let her down, running towards the table. Harry raised his wand, causing her to stop and flinch away from him. A swish of his wand and her clothes were clean, though the smell of thrown up firewhiskey lingered. “Sit.”

She did.

Astoria couldn’t fall asleep again. The potion was done, and her body weak, but she still sat at the table with them, her eyes moving between Harry, Daphne and her parents. She lowered her head, whether it was in shame or exhaustion, he could not tell.

“I’m tired,” she said, every stretched and worn syllable out of her mouth proved it. “I didn’t know what I was saying. I’m sorry.”

“What you said isn’t something you say when tired,” Harry said, shaking his head. She didn’t retort. “And the things you told me when you were intoxicated were more than revealing. You’re a mess, Astoria.”

Leonidas stood, and was seated again by his wife’s harsh grip.

“You don’t know me,” Astoria said. Her voice came with a low growl that reminded Harry of his father-in-law. “I made a mistake, so what? Everyone does.”

“You need to stop pretending you’re fine when you’re not,” Daphne cut in. She was hunched over the table, Harry’s hands on her shoulders as she tried to hide her shame-filled face. “I’ve been there, it’s not… it’s not good for you, Astoria.”

“You don’t know anything,” Astoria said, though the retort was weakened by her haggard appearance. “You’re… you’re just this person who came here and took my sister’s place.”

“No,” Daphne shook her head. “I’m much, much worse than that, so please, look at me.” Though she wasn’t harsh, his voice carried the order well enough. Astoria raised her head, focusing on Daphne, who had lost all her glamour of a confident woman to the pits of a harsh reality. What she had only dared to do in the privacy of her own room before, she was now showing to everyone. Astoria’s eyes moved to Harry, but were quickly ordered back. “Look at me.”

Astoria did.

Her gaze moved from Harry’s face to his hands, where his wedding ring sat, up Daphne’s neck and into her sister’s eyes.

“Your father has never said no to you,” she said. Leonidas pursed his lips, but said nothing. “Because you were dying. Because he wanted your every day in this world to be happy. You think you were born to die in my stead, would that make you happy? Do you want to be dead?”

“Daphne,” Lucinda said, her voice pleading. Daphne was unrelenting.

“My parents were cowards,” Daphne said, spitting the word with a disdain she usually only reserved for Remus. Lucinda and Leonidas cracked under her harsh words, looking away in shame. “They thought ignorance is bliss, and in a way it was, until reality caught up to them. They  _ wasted away _ after you died. If you believe for one moment that the only reason they wanted another child was so I could live, you’re insulting the sacrifices they’ve made.”

Astoria grit her teeth, her face flushing. For the first time in forever, she started to look like the child she was. The pride was chipped away, revealing weakness.

“And if you’re still unhappy, and you want me gone,” Daphne said, softer now than before, but still clearly upset. “Then I’ll go. I can’t replace her, or me, or whatever makes sense here. We’re here and we’re stuck in this situation, whether you like it or not.”

“I want Daphne,” Astoria said stubbornly, her voice cracking. “I want to stop being tired. I want to stop seeing  _ blood _ every time I go to sleep.  _ I want my sister _ .”

“Then  _ say _ that,” Daphne said, slapping her hands onto the table as she stood up. “You’re a  _ child _ , Astoria. No amount of trying to shoulder every burden by yourself will change that. We are here for a reason, and if your parents won’t be cruel to you, I will. I can’t cause miracles, but I want you to be happy. Because I love you.”

Astoria broke. She started crying all the tears she had refused to show. Her face lit up red as her frustration clawed itself out of her lungs and turned into a wail. Lucinda wrapped her up in a hug. Leonidas looked furious, whether at himself or at Daphne’s harsh words, Harry could not tell.

It took minutes of crying before Astoria had managed to fall asleep. Her parents took her up to her room, leaving Harry and Daphne alone. Cups of tea appeared in front of them after minutes of sitting in silence.

“She’ll never accept me as her sister again,” Daphne whispered. Harry’s thumb ran down her back, his attempts to comfort her meeting a resistance ten times as stubborn as Astoria’s. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Harry said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s traumatized, depressed and no matter how much she claims otherwise, she needs you.”

“I can’t lose my sister again, Harry,” Daphne said. She lifted a shaking hand to the cup of tea that Moppy must have had prepared. Harry’s own joined hers, helping her drink. “I can’t lose any of them. Not when they’re the only silver lining in this entire mess we’ve found ourselves in. I don’t want to be a stranger in my own home, I don’t want my sister to look at me like… like I killed her only friend. But if that is what she needs to heal…”

“You’re so similar to each other,” Harry said, his forehead touching her shoulder. “It’s kind of amazing, how you can be so insightful about what she needs and keep forgetting that you should treat yourself the same way.”

“I don’t need platitudes, Harry, I’m very capable of making a hypocrite out of myself.”

“If you really want my insight,” Harry said, his smile reflected in his voice, “I would say she needs time. We thought she was doing better than she was and left her alone in a new environment, it’s… psychological pressure, you know what that can do to children.”

“You’re insufferable,” Daphne said, her head leaning onto his. Her shaking had stopped, though his comforting hand on her back did not stop caressing her. “What about Teddy?”

“He’s going to be fine. They’re all going to be amazing.”

Daphne’s hands grasped his. They were cold, but steady.

###

Sirius stood in chains, his hands bound in thick balls of conjured metal. He remembered the spell well, he once had used it on Severus Snape in a rather fun prank to have him fail at least one potions class in his life.

He ruined it by using his mouth for half the ingredients and still getting an O.

The chains were bound to a special cage around him, keeping him completely immobile except for slight neck movements and his mouth. Said cage, as he recalled, was an… amusing invention from an ancestor of his. Inspired by a muggle invention a hundred years back, the cage was created to not let any and all magic through.

Though a killing curse was sure to punch through the magical enhancements, the actual metal meant that a person would have to stick their wand into it anyway to cast it with perfect accuracy.

Some might call it excessive, but in Sirius' opinion, this was barely enough. If he could get someone to sneak him a wand, he could likely get himself out in a minute using a clever animagus transformation and a neat spell he once learned on a trip through the African provinces that involved digging a hole into any kind of material.

Of course, if Amelia knew that he had such thoughts at this point in time, she would likely order the Dementor’s Kiss herself. Speaking of his rather unkind house-mates, the twisted creatures hovered far enough from the actual chamber to not bother the Wizengamot, but still close enough to cause a chill down Sirius’ spine.

The only blessing that kept him from getting frustrated and snapping at whoever gave him a dirty look was the identical cage next to his, holding Peter Pettigrew, who was fortunately muzzled and kept in shackles that would prevent his own transformation into an animagus.

The man whimpered as gazes and whispers turned towards him. Sirius suppressed a grin. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the last of the Wizengamot arrive in the chamber. Albus Dumbledore was sitting next to Minister Scrimgeour and Madam Bones as the trifecta discussed among each other.

Rather than the politicians, it was the press that made Sirius sweat. Their hungry eyes would make Dementors green with envy.

When everyone was seated, the show got started.

“Sirius Orion Black.” Amelia stood, acting as if she held nothing but contempt for him. Or perhaps she wasn’t acting at all. “I will make it simple for you. You will answer with ‘yes, madam’ or ‘no, madam’, and nothing else. Do I make myself clear?”

Sirius bit his cheek. “Yes, Madam.”

She nodded. “Very well. We shall now begin the trial of Sirius Orion Black, of the House of Black. Sir Weasley, please read the charges.”

Arthur Weasley, Sirius remembered, was never one for  _ politics _ . So many things were different now, so many things had changed. Sitting on the Wizengamot now and holding a position in one of the new departments created by this administration made him a powerful man in his own right. Sirius resisted the urge to smile. Good for him.

“The charges are as follows,” he began, looking down at the parchment in his hands. “Twelve counts of murder on Muggles in Nineteen-Eighty-One, one count of Murder on Esteemed Wizard of the Order of Merlin, First Class in the same year…” he hesitated for a moment, and Sirius knew what was coming. “The murder of Harry James Potter, Nineteen-Ninety-Three.”

The Wizengamot began to shout over each other, and Sirius stood still. The idea that Harry was gone still hadn’t properly sunken in. Though it was the catalyst for his brief stint of clarity that let him get Peter without much of a struggle, the idea of being cleared and not having anyone besides maybe Remus to celebrate with felt hollow.

“Silence,” Minister Scrimgeour said. “Mr. Black, how do you plead?”

‘No, Madam’ was on the tip of his tongue. Amelia’s sharp nod made him steer off the course. “Not guilty.”

Outrage, flashes of light, scratches on parchment. Sirius stood still, waiting for the order to return to the courtroom, and watched as an Auror approached his cage. A crude stick was in the man’s hands, with thin knots at the top holding a vial of veritaserum.

“Very well,” Amelia took over from Rufus, sneering that perfect contempt-filled sneer. “On your head it shall be. Apply the veritaserum!”

“Don’t waste one drop, Black,” the Auror said, inserting the stick from the side of the cave and holding the vial to his lips. Sirius bit down on the top of the vial, throwing it back and chugging it down. He spat the vial out as the serum took effect, his eyes glazing over. In that haze that many had described similar to the Imperius curse, he heard the questions clearly.

“State your name.”

“Sirius Black.”

“Your Hogwarts house?”

“Gryffindor.”

“Sirius Black. Were you ever a Death Eater?”

“No.”

And the flood began anew. Of course, this wouldn’t clear him, this was merely the beginning.

“Who is the man in the cage next to you?” Amelia asked. Everyone knew the answer, of course, but part of the trial was theatrics. Things that would look good to the press. Though Rufus was no doubt in on Amelia’s plan, and unwilling to throw an innocent man under the bus for clout unlike his predecessor, he still had to walk out with a win.

“Peter Pettigrew.” Sirius’ answer caused more chatter and more cries demanding silence. He would have scoffed had the serum let him, but for now, it was twenty questions.

“Have you killed twelve muggles at a train station using magic, or in your capacity as a wizard used magic, coercion, bribery or other means to cause their death when Peter Pettigrew tracked you down?”

“No, Madam.”

“Have you killed Peter Pettigrew during the train station massacre, or in your capacity as a wizard used magic, coercion, bribery or other means to cause his death?”

Sirius’ eyes moved from the bottom left to the bottom right. The closest he could get to an eyeroll. “No, Madam.”

“Have you murdered or were complicit in the murder of Harry Potter in his room in Number Four, Privet Drive?”

Sirius’ heart skipped a beat. “No, Madam.”

“Innocent,” someone whispered in the back, shock tainting their voice. “Against all sense and reason, innocent!”

“Apply the counter-agent!” Amelia ordered. The haze of truth vanished when a drop entered his mouth, this time applied from inside the cage.

“In the lack of conviction by trial,” Rufus Scrimgeour said, raising his arms apart in a placating gesture to the people around him, “the breakout of Azkaban, unprecedented as it is, will not be a charge against you, Mr. Black. I assure you that this injustice will not stand, and the responsible people of the previous administration will see that this administration does not forgive and forget these things.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sirius said, giving him a nod. He looked down at the chains which were slowly being undone by the Auror, who gave him a dubious look.

“Though it pains me to keep you here while this is happening, before we begin with the questioning of… Peter Pettigrew, I never thought I’d see the day.”

The man whimpered as all of the sudden, the hostility in the courtroom turned to him. Sirius was more than happy to see him get his dues. He wondered where he’d go now.

“The Ministry is willing to pay for any medical costs as well as an additional ten-thousand galleons per year of wrongful incineration to repay this injustice to you. The horrors you must have suffered through can never be taken back, but we hope that this could be a first step to your recovery.”

_ That’s funny _ , Sirius thought, swallowing the sour taste of the counter-agent.  _ He almost sounds genuine. _

At least the money would be enough for him to get a new place and burn down Grimmauld Place, if it hadn’t already fallen apart by itself.

Sirius stepped out and about, breathing the air of a free man. Wizards in St. Mungo’s robes were standing by, approaching him when the guard led him to a free seat next to Arthur. They began casting spells and handing him potions as the Wizengamot sorted itself for the next trial.

Arthur eyed him, a look between suspicion and relief. “I thought you were guilty. I’m sorry.”

Sirius pursed his lips, looking at Peter who was resisting the application of the veritaserum with all he had. If only Harry could be here to see this. “Me too, Arthur.”


	13. Chapter 13: The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah... freedom for Sirius Black. And madness for Hermione Granger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a bit longer than I wanted, I apologize.

###  ### Chapter 13: The Other Side

Hermione Granger was, according to her teachers, intelligent and driven. Of course such statements could not stand on their own, leaving them to add words such as ‘unhealthy’ and ‘insufferable’ to clarify just how intelligent and driven they considered her. Truly, such admiration from her professors was benefiting someone of her status as the top student in all of Hogwarts.

Or at least among the third years. The proof of her awe-inspiring drive was the small hourglass that hung around her neck.

McGonagall had given it to her with clear instructions, making it clear that it was to be used only for its intended purpose of visiting every possible class.

_ However _ .

There was no way Harry was dead. No, things didn’t add up. And the final piece of the puzzle was Sirius Black’s acquittal. Though the death of Harry Potter was now hanging over the shoulders of one Peter Pettigrew, who had been revealed as alive and stripped of his Order of Merlin commendation, she didn’t believe that he was responsible either.

Unfortunately she was stuck in the school at the moment, incapable of chasing down Black to interrogate him. This left her with the next best option. Someone who knew the man. Despite pleading with her, McGonagall was unwilling, and Dumbledore was too busy to bother.

This left her only true friend besides Ron, who was going through the motions of the school year with as much wit as he could muster. As much as she liked him, there was the simple truth that the only reason they were friends over the past two years was because of Harry’s influence on them.

In the library, she sat down with a book nearly as large as Hogwarts, A History.

_ Graduating Classes of Hogwarts _

The first classes were simply lists of names, but that was fine. She was looking at a more modern class, after all. The Hogwarts Class of Seventy-Eight, in which Sirius Black had graduated after seven years in Gryffindor.

And next to him, the faces she was hoping to find. James Potter, Peter Pettigrew… and Remus Lupin.

She had been keeping the man, who was probably the best DADA teacher that they’ve had so far, not that this was a massive achievement by itself, under scrutiny. She remembered his son had joined the second year this year and more than that, he apparently had not known about said son for the longest time!

How… reprobate. Then the strangeness kept piling up. His son was apparently the nephew of the Greengrass family, whose daughter had died as well. Hermione remembered Daphne Greengrass, who had been less of a pest than Pansy Parkinson, but still a Slytherin, which made classes with her generally insufferable.

So in that sleep-deprived haze it started to click. Sirius Black breaks out. Harry Potter, allegedly, dies. Daphne Greengrass,  _ allegedly _ , dies, close enough for the funerals to be held on the same day. Remus Lupin’s son appears, a Metamorphmagus, and Remus used to be friends with both Sirius and James?

Of course she used the time turner to attend all her classes, but every other free time she had? She spent here, working on her theories, and while none of them made sense, a few hypotheses could be drawn, certainly not because she  _ needed _ to be right, but of course she would be.

She was Hermione Granger, after all, almost fourteen, that’s practically almost an adult!

Hypothesis number one: Edward Lupin, or Teddy as he insisted everyone call him, was Harry in disguise.

Hypothesis number two: To make the disguise believable, Harry’s death was faked, without leaving a body behind.

Hypothesis number three: The responsible parties are Remus Lupin and the Greengrass family, possibly to hide Harry from Sirius Black! To prevent him from talking to her they must be doing something to him! The Imperius curse?! Loyalty potions?!  _ Love potions _ ?

That would explain why Daphne was gone as well!

That’s when she hit a wall. Sirius was acquitted and Teddy vanished from Hogwarts. It took a bit of digging to find out that Astoria Greengrass, Daphne’s younger sister, had also disappeared. The teachers assured them they were with their family due to an emergency and would join them as soon as everything has been resolved.

So what had changed? Why would Harry not reveal himself?

She put a bookmark onto the page and slapped the book shut, rushing out of the library with billowing robes. She had a man to confront, and a friend to rescue!

* * *

There was a hole in the Gryffindor common room. Not in the physical sense, as there were plenty of those in the walls, but in the sense that something, or someone, who should be there was not.

Harry Potter’s death had left the Wizarding World shook, the British Ministry in shambles, and the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hollow.

And none felt this more than the teachers. McGonagall was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the Weasley twins to do something so outragelously stupid that they would cheer the rest of their house, or perhaps even the school, up.

But they did not. Against all odds, two weeks into the school year, they sat silently with their younger siblings, eating dinner. She had heard whispers of them planning something, but whatever it was must have fallen through, or their ability to act had seen considerable improvement over the past few months.

If they were the only ones acting strange, she could have left it be, but Dumbledore, too, seemed to have a new vigour in his step the last time she saw him, and though young Mr. Lupin had left for the weekend, his father, Remus, seemed content.

Pomona had told her the gist of it. The allegation of abuse after the rather… concerning display of a Boggart in a second year classroom. The young man’s outburst. His guardian eventually came to pick him up, leaving enough of an impression for Dumbledore to give Remus a stern warning about age-appropriate classwork. In a way, she understood. The Greengrass family was, while not as rich as the Malfoy family, quite well connected. Unlike the blatant pureblood supremacist, they also had a seat on the Wizengamot, though they had used it for a long while.

She remembered Lucinda Greengrass. A Ravenclaw with so much heart, it was almost a shame she wasn’t in another house. She remembered when the news broke that her sister, Adria, had died, though it was years after the sisters had graduated. She had wondered if the woman had the same expression on her face as she did at the funeral of her daughter.

She did not know much about Leonidas Greengrass, who had married into the family, from an illustrious Greek pureblood family. Before said funeral, she would have considered him the typical man of such a stature, but his words were laced with painful truth, and though she could still not claim to know much about him, she could say that he loved his daughter.

And to her, as a teacher, that counted more than anything.

She had seen so many people walk through these halls. She had accompanied many children over the years, seeing them graduate. She had seen their heartaches and their joys. She had seen the signs of loving homes, and the signs of those that were close to abusive, or outright malicious towards their children.

She had seen the likes of Lucius Malfoy spawn from homes that expected too much from them, and she had seen the likes of Harry Potter come and go from homes that expected nothing.

The fact that he died in that loveless home would haunt her until the end of her days, she was sure.

A knock on the door caused her to look up. Shoulder long red hair peeked through the door to her office, revealing one-half of the Weasley twins.

“Come in, Mr. Weasley,” she said, giving him a nod. “It’d be more polite to wait for me to call first and then open the door.”

“Yes,” he said, stepping in. He looked… shaken? Perhaps that wasn’t the right word. Something was making him nervous, and he took a seat in front of her with no small amounts of looking over his shoulder.

She didn’t feel very comfortable either. Seeing one of the twins without the other was like that hole in the common room. It felt unnatural.

“Is something the matter, Fred,” she asked. They thought she couldn’t keep them apart, but they were quite wrong about that. Though they both were identical down to their mannerisms, some things were and would always be unique to them.

“I’ve had a fight with George,” he said, not even trying to deny who he was. She raised an eyebrow. That was unusual, they haven’t had a real fight since their first year, after which the boys were joined at the hip. Fred rubbed the back of his neck. “He didn’t want me to talk to you. I’m still not sure, he might be right.”

She frowned. “I assure you, anything you say here will be kept between us, unless it concerns something  _ highly _ illegal.”

The stressed word made him cower. She didn’t think he would do something that broke any actual laws. Even when it came to school rules, the Weasleys prided themselves on skirting the line to a point where they could never be punished more significantly than a few detentions here and there.

Magic knows she’s had to deal with a few requests from Professor Sprout to throw them out. They were still banned from the greenhouses.

“It’s not  _ me _ I’m worried about,” Fred said, fumbling around in his pocket and pulling out a piece of parchment. “I saw something recently, and I don’t know who to talk to. George said we shouldn’t talk to anyone, but it doesn’t sit right by me.”

She furrowed her brow at the parchment. She had seen it before… many years ago.

“And what, pray tell, did you see?” she asked, her voice soft. Of course, it had been so long, but she would always remember that strange map that the self-proclaimed Marauders were carrying around whenever they were sent to detention. The map which would insult her quite crudely whenever she moved to decipher it.

He held his wand up to the map and tapped it once. “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”

And just like that, magic unfolded. Invisible ink made itself known as it slithered over the parchment of the map, not stopping as Fred unfolded it, revealing an incredibly detailed depiction of Hogwarts from the broom's eye view.

And near his wand, she saw his name, and hers, standing across each other.

“Magnificent,” she said, finding herself in awe at the spellwork. Her students had created  _ this _ ? Something like this was… she wouldn’t say unprecedented, but considering their unwillingness to sit still and learn, it was a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. “Is this how you kept avoiding Filch’s patrols?”

“He was using it before we… found it,” Fred said diplomatically. He shook his head. “But no, yesterday I saw something on the map. George saw it, too, so it wasn’t just a trick of light. A name that shouldn’t be on the map.”

“Shouldn’t?”

“Harry Potter,” Fred said, his voice barely above a whisper. McGonagall’s blood froze in her veins. “Not randomly in some room, but with the headmaster in his office.”

“Impossible,” she whispered back. Louder, she spoke again. “No, Mr. Weasley, that isn’t possible. Perhaps he has become a ghost, if he was alive-”

If he was alive, Dumbledore would no longer look like a mess. He would walk with his head held high.

He would walk with a spring in his step.

Her eyes widened, her hand moving to her chest as she stood up. When she moved towards her door, it was Fred’s hand on her arm that stopped her.

“Professor,” he said, his voice still quiet and hoarse. “If he is alive, and Headmaster Dumbledore knows… why didn’t he tell us?”

She thought. And thought and thought and thought.

Because Harry would not want them to? Why would Dumbledore, who had always acted in Harry’s best interest, accept such a reason?  _ Unless _ .

Unless it was in Harry’s best interest to hide away. But of course that didn’t add up.

“Say, Mr. Weasley.” She turned to him, and he let her arm go when he saw her lips drawn into a thin line. “Around which time did you see Mr. Potter on the map?”

“During the afternoon classes.”

The boy’s guardian was not Leonidas Greengrass, then. It was, against all common sense and logic, Harry Potter.

“You wonder whether it would be prudent to accept Dumbledore’s decision to keep this hidden from everyone without question,” she summarized. Fred nodded. She looked back towards her door. “I suppose we will have to ask him ourselves if his excuses are reasonable.”

“We?” Fred asked, blinking. “I was kind of hoping we could keep my name out of this, wipe my memory maybe or-”

“We’re not going to obliviate a student in our care, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, patting the young man on his cheek. “We keep our spells for the adults.”

Fred swallowed. So much for getting advice on how to proceed. The professor had hijacked his finds, and George was probably not going to be happy. At least she hadn’t taken the map from him.

* * *

Sirius woke up and smelled freedom. When Dumbledore came to him after the trial, Sirius felt miserable to shake him off. Someone so powerful and connected had never seen to making this happen before that day.

So he asked for a month. A month to sort his feelings, a month to sort what remained of his belongings, a month to find himself some semblance of peace.

A month before he would visit Hogwarts so pay respects to Harry.

Which is how he found himself rising, for the third morning in a row, in a large room in a rather dusty hotel that had been recommended to him by Amelia when he was looking for a place to stay. Though he had Grimmauld Place, he had seen the inside of a prison for long enough to move from one to another.

In some ways, Grimmauld Place caused miserable memories to resurface, not unlike the Dementors themselves.

And so he went through the motions. He woke in cold sweat, and before he did anything, he had to take his first potion of the day. The diluted calming draught would help him make that first step. The step that would always be the hardest.

After the vial went down like a firewhiskey in a dry throat, he stood, noting with a slight feeling of satisfaction that he did not trip today. He took off his shirt, his fingers only slipping a few times as they failed the hold onto the fabric before he managed to lift it over his head and threw it onto the pile in the corner of the room.

A quick trip into the bathroom saw him face to face with what he had become. Emasculated, thin and bony. But every day, he improved slightly. Today, he was seven stone, which was a massive improvement to the four-and-a-half he had on when the regimen started. Sirius lifted the flappy skin on his stomach in disgust before moving on to take his second potion. Nutrition in a bottle. Tasted as awful as it sounded. A quick shower later, he was dressed and ready to take the rest.

He walked out of the room, through a hallway with a red carpet and flattering wallpapers that displayed the imagery of various cities in the world, starting in London, going through Paris, Coppenhagen, Moscow, Warsaw and ending up in an image of Berlin as the wall fell, only three years ago.

It was an image he had stopped in front of a few times during his stay.

“Mr. Black, early as always, I see,” a concierge greeted him with a smile. Sirius nodded at him, the initial awkwardness of his new ‘home’, for the lack of a better word, had passed by now. It was not easy jumping into the Muggle world at the drop of a hat, but if there was one place where the illustrious press would not look for the last Black heir that wasn’t a mass murderer (despite a few papers running theories about his bribery of officials, or some bogus excuse about old Black family magic that made the use of truth serum impossible). “The breakfast will be served as usual, I’m afraid.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Pearson,” Sirius said, smiling at the man. Nobody asked questions if you had enough money to throw around. He felt fortunate that he had spent so much time with James and Lily after school, allowing him to blend in at least somewhat reasonably. “I’ll be at the pool.”

He had an hour until breakfast was served, and in a way, he prefered the crowd of a busy restaurant to the sheer weight of sitting alone while eating. Though he was left well alone, and his appearance was without a doubt not making it easy for other people to approach him, the presence of others made him feel normal.

After all, those who are normal do not fear the crowds. They do not cover their ears when they hear a crying child, or squeeze their eyes shut tight to hide from the piercing green eyes of the godson he had failed, or cower when a plate shattered after being dropped.

Sirius took a deep breath.

He wasn’t going to swim, of course, but the indoor pool was one of the few places where the background noise allowed him to keep his thoughts straight without straying off too far.

Mr. Pearson gave him a smile as they passed each other, and Sirius made his way down the stairs, past the first floor and towards the pool. Holding his breath as he passed through the narrow hallway that led into the changing room. He changed into a bathrobe, enjoying the freedom it gave him and found himself at his good place.

The weird smell of chlorine, the rushing of the water through the pipes, the artificial lights on the ceiling to spite the dreary English weather.

Sirius found an empty beach chair and laid down on it, closing his eyes, enjoying the slight twinge of pain in his eyes as the fluorescent lights burned through his eyelids. Alas, it was not meant to be. When he had found a comfortable position to take his time, the light was cut off by something moving above him. He slowly opened his eyes, blinded by the bright lights and squinted at whoever was blocking his sight.

In the creases of their shadowed appearance, Sirius found himself staring at green eyes. He rubbed his eyes, blinking through the tiredness, and found himself once more seeing the face of a ghost.

“James,” he said, his voice small and hoarse. “Have… have you come to take me?”

James blinked, his eyebrows rising. “Well, yes, but I’m afraid you have the wrong Potter, Sirius Black.”

Sirius had the displeasure of finding out that nightmares and hallucinations cared a bit too much about gravity and fell over his own legs when he tried to stand up too fast. Before he could hit the floor in a painful thud, the ghost of James had grabbed his arm. He felt warm.

“I’ve gone mad,” Sirius said, looking at where the warmth was coming from. The man’s hand on his wrist. “I’ve gone mad, more mad than I’ve been. You can’t be real.”

“I can explain everything,” James said. No, not James. Those eyes. That haircut. That beard, James could never grow a beard like that. “But I need you to come with me, Sirius.”

“Will I see Harry?” Sirius asked, shaking his wrist free from the man’s grip. “Will it hurt?”

“Blimey, Sirius,” Harry said, slapping the man’s face a few times with soft pats. “I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to bring you to my family. I’m alive.”

Sirius rubbed his eyes. He grabbed his cheek between two fingers, pinching and pulling. He lifted a fist, but before he could punch himself awake, the man grabbed his wrist again, and Sirius had to live with the shame of being too weak to really fight the man off.

“I’ll come,” Sirius said, resigning himself to the madness. “But I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m a time traveler,” James said, smiling widely. “Who do you think told Amelia Bones about Peter Pettigrew?”

Sirius blinked. His eyes cleared. The features became more obvious. The smile sealed it. “Harry.”

He wrapped the boy, the man, in a hug. With a tug, they were gone.

###

Remus was not someone afraid of other people. His furry little problem left him with little to fear from others, as most regular spells were not quite as effective against him anymore. He was much more afraid of himself, as someone who was, once every month, capable of becoming a monster beyond the pale.

Of course, nowadays there was the Wolfsbane potion, which let him keep his mind. And though the fear of losing himself and hurting someone else was not there anymore, his reflection in the mirror when he was fully conscious to see just what had become of him disgusted him.

But when he found himself under the scrutiny of a fourteen year old witch, who had, in no small amount of words, accused him of kidnapping Harry Potter with the help of the Greengrass family, he did feel quite concerned. She looked haggard and erratic. He could see she had barely slept in the past week, and were she any older he would not be surprised if he had found a gray strand of hair or two in that bushy head.

“When is the last time you’ve slept, Ms. Granger?” Remus asked. She frowned, her face scrunched up, whether it was in annoyance or in thought as she tried to recall, he could not tell. Her left eyelid twitched a few times.

She clearly hadn’t taken the death of her friend well. He could understand. Sirius’ acquittal filled him with shame, and even now he had not dared to seek the man out to talk to him. He was a coward and a hypocrite.

But Hermione was young. She didn’t know her limits, and from what he had heard the other teachers said, she was not one to let something such as limits stop her.

“Harry isn’t dead,” Hermione insisted, deciding to ignore his question. “He  _ can’t _ be dead. There’s no way he’d have just disappeared without a trace.”

“It’s not ‘no trace’, Ms. Granger, certain kinds of magic leave a rather visible mark upon the world, especially those released when one dies.” Remus tried to sound diplomatic, but he failed, that pang of pain entering his voice. “It’s why, despite the rather… industrious possibilities that wizards have, Aurors for example are trained to find such traces. From what the headmaster has told me, the signs were clear.”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Whatever she wanted to say fell apart as tiredness crawled up her back. “No.”

“It’s never easy losing a friend, and there is nothing worse than waking up in the morning forgetting they’re gone. Holding onto the belief they must still be around isn’t wrong, but you mustn't let that control you.

Hermione raised a finger, her mouth opening and closing a few times. Her shoulders slumped, her body sagging. For a moment, Remus thought she might fall over. Instead, she used the motion to mask her pulling out her wand. Were he any less skilled in duelling, a move like that would have gotten him. His shield was up before she managed to finish pronouncing her spell, deflecting the soft red light of a stunner that probably wouldn’t have managed to make a cat unconscious into the wall.

She followed up by tackling him, which he was ashamed to admit he wasn’t expecting. Though larger and stronger than her by a fair margin, she had managed to knock him over as he tripped over a chair in his cramped office.

He resisted the urge to smile. Harry had some good friends. Settling on wincing in pain instead, he found himself not-quite-pinned to the ground and his shirt in the shaking hands of a crying child that tried her best to look threatening.

“Why are you hiding him from me?” she asked, pulling on his shirt. She looked more and more upset by the second, her face flushing red in frustration and exhaustion, a cold sweat gathering in the back of her neck, no doubt from the miserable circulation of many sleepless nights. “I want my friend back. Give me Harry back you reprobate bastard!”

For someone so small and tired, she certainly had quite a lot of strength in her arms. That constant lifting of books must be doing something for her. Ever patient, for he did not like himself when he was angry, Remus stood up and grabbed the girl’s arms, putting her down standing. She didn’t let go of the shirt, ripping it slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said. His words caused her to let go, stumbling backwards and landing on her arse. She didn’t accept his offered hand to help her up. “If he were alive, and I knew where he was, I’d take you to him.”

“He’s pretending to be your son,” Hermione insisted. Remus frowned. “A metamorphmagus who appears at the same time when two of my classmates die in the  _ same  _ summer? He’s even taller than the other second years!”

“I’ve always been taller than most people around that age,” Remus said, shaking his head. “It’s a family thing. And I assure you, I’ve checked thoroughly, he’s my son.”

“So where is he? You can’t tell me you’re so unconcerned he just got taken home for the weekend after, after that!”

She pointed at nothing, but Remus knew she meant the Boggart. The rumour mill of Hogwarts was fast and cruel, as always.

“I’m sorry,” Remus repeated. A quick disarm gave him her wand. A Levicorpus held her in place as he walked out of the office, towards McGonagall. Better to have her head of house take care of this.


	14. Until The Hurting Is Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck.

###  ### Chapter 14: Until The Hurting Is Gone

Though she was not unwilling to describe herself as stubborn, Astoria Greengrass would fight tooth and nail if anyone ever dared to call her  _ stupid _ . She was, after years of private tutoring that many pureblood children enjoyed, quite a bit above the rest of people around her age. She could say without the shadow of a doubt that she had messed up, and were she of a lower standing, she would have used quite a few crude words to exclaim such. 

She looked around, making sure nobody was there before she dared to speak the slang of the colonies.

“Fuck,” she said into the empty room. It felt appropriate. Daphne’s words still stung, not because they were unnecessarily harsh or cruel, but because they were true. In the end, she really was nothing more than a spoiled princess.

Not that this invalidated her grievances. Astoria was, above all, not  _ stupid _ .

_ Or maybe _ , the voice inside her whispered,  _ not accepting help when feeling bad is stupid _ .

Nonsense. It wasn’t her fault that the world was suddenly upside down. It was Potter’s fault, him and his ridiculous family.

She looked around the room, her fingers tracing the slight dent in the wood of her bedside table that she had once fell onto while playing with Daphne. Back before Daphne went to Hogwarts, they had shared a room. It was in a rather unsightly and childish fit of anger that she rejected Daphne moving back in after coming back from her first year.

Daphne had taken it in stride, as she often did, though thinking back to it, and remembering her own situation… just because you looked fine, doesn’t mean that you were fine on the inside. She stepped away from the table, her fingers touching the wall now. The beautiful design of chrysanthemums splattering inch over inch until a small piece of parchment disrupted it all, carrying the crude drawing that she had once drawn when she was much younger.

The bright yellow crayon colour that she had used for her sister’s hair stabbed into her eyes with an intensity that caused her to tear up.

Daphne had not taken anything from the room when she moved, and it hadn’t taken too long for Astoria to concede and ask her to come back. In the end, Daphne had moved back in, and since then the topic had been settled.

But now, only one and a half years later-

Astoria’s hand continued down the wall and onto the second bed, across hers, closer to the door. Daphne’s bed hadn’t been touched since the night of her death. Even when the other Astoria,  _ Atty _ , had been over in this room to play, she had not allowed her to touch the bed.

Nobody would touch it again. She lifted her hand off it after patting down the sheets to be neat and straight again. The door behind her opened slowly, and she spun around after schooling her features into a cold frown.

Teddy stood there, trying and failing to give her a smile. He looked tired, the slumped shoulders and hunched-over back allowing her to be almost on eye level with him. He was holding one arm with his hand, looking away when she met his eyes.

“I wanted to say I’m… sorry for not being there for you,” Teddy said, his voice as rough as his appearance. Astoria frowned. “I know anything I say would sound like an excuse, I thought things would work out for you because you were having so much fun with your friends, but I was just too self-absorbed in my own mess that I couldn’t see what was happening.”

“You’re not responsible for me.” Astoria crossed her arms, glaring at him. “I’m not a charity case.”

“You’re not,” Teddy said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. She took an angry step forward. “You’re family.”

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him off for making presumptions like that, but found she couldn’t. She had barely known him for a month, but out of all the people who had stormed their home and made it theirs, Teddy was probably the only one whom she felt anything akin to kinship with.

Because he also felt like he lost everything. He had the desperate stench and trembles of someone who was a fish out of water.

“And family sticks together, right?” Teddy continued when she failed to respond. Astoria closed her mouth, wiping down her face with her hands.

“You’re insufferable,” she said eventually, glaring at him from in between her fingers, her voice muffled slightly by the hands near her mouth. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“I can’t understand me either, really,” Teddy said, unable to meet her eyes. “My… my dad and my father, I felt kind of torn, but I shouldn’t have. I know it’s not the same as you and mu-, I mean, your sister, but, I, you know, I’m-”

“Stop.” Her order was met with his teeth clicking against each other as his mouth shut. “We’re not family. We’re barely even  _ friends _ . Your family waltzed in here and turned  _ everything _ I knew on the head. Your father and his stupid ritual, it killed my sister. Nothing about this is  _ fine _ .”

Teddy frowned, looking hurt but unable to argue against the interpretation. He knew that his father had the same thoughts, that the younger Harry and Daphne were truly killed by the travel back through time, rather than replaced. “If you look for darkness, that’s all you’ll ever see, Astoria.”

“Shut up, Socrates.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “You can’t seriously tell me there’s a silver lining here. I was drunk and vulnerable, there won’t be a repeat of that.”

“But there is!” Teddy said, his voice rising. She raised an eyebrow. “A silver lining!”

“Oh yeah, what? Your family? Strangers in my home. My parents may be in love with you, but I won’t fall for it.”

“You,” Teddy settled on. Astoria stumbled over her scathing response. Out of all the things he could have said, this hadn’t even made the list. Realizing he wasn’t being clear enough, he continued. “It cured you. You’re going to have a whole life to complain about what happened.”

She wanted to lash out and say that she shouldn’t have been cured. That she should have died in her sister’s stead. That none of this should have happened in the first place. She had a list prepared in her head to make him angry, to mock his sister’s condition, to tell him that he’d understand how she feels once the curse takes her, that-

_ Do you want to be dead? _

She punched the wall, crushing the dark feelings into dust. Teddy jumped in fright as a bang of magic helped the young girl to cave a hole into the wall rather than hurt her hand. Astoria, to her credit, continued without missing a beat. She took a few steps forward, and Teddy, afraid, walked backwards until he hit a wall. Astoria didn’t stop her approach, leaving her self-proclaimed nephew to cower.

“You will not tell  _ anyone _ about this,” Astoria ordered, putting her arms around him. Teddy went stiff for a moment before his shoulders relaxed, moving his arms to give her a hug.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” she said. He coughed, lowering the arms to his sides and leaving her be. Astoria took a minute, and he could feel her shaking decrease in intensity halfway through.

“If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here. And if you can’t stand my face, I can look however you want so you feel comfortable.”

“You look atrocious as you are, anyone would feel good comparing themselves to you,” Astoria said. Teddy laughed, looking down. “But thank you. For… for trying, at least.”

Teddy said nothing when she stepped away from him, rushing into the adjacent bathroom and locking the door behind her.

###

Awkward would not begin to describe the surreal situation Sirius Black had found himself in. He sat at a table, across a toddler who was looking at him like he was a puzzle she had to figure out. Her hair was a beautiful blonde, her eyes, a piercing green.

She smiled at him. Sirius tried to smile back. He was sure that he had made a child cry with his smile at the hotel, but Lily, who looked every bit like a mix of Lily Potter and Lucinda Greengrass, didn’t seem to mind.

It still felt surreal, and he was still not entirely sure if he was hallucinating. Harry stood in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, which left Sirius to babysit the toddler.

Or perhaps it was the other way around. He wasn’t sure how to interact with her, and he wasn’t sure how to interact with  _ Harry _ either. It was just all around a very strange day. The Greengrass manor hasn’t changed too much from the last time he was here, back when the families were using their children’s birthday parties as an excuse to meet and have deals with each other.

So Sirius defaulted to what he knew would work. If you could not look at something seriously without losing your mind, shrug it off and make a joke. He turned into a dog, crawling under the table and towards the toddler. She squealed in joy, and Sirius could see Harry look towards them from the kitchen, hard working at the stove.

He barked at her. She barked back. She jumped off her chair in a practiced motion and only stumbled for a second before righting herself up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He went rigid for a moment, slowly relaxing when she gave him rough but friendly pats.

By the time the smell of food was seeping through the home, Sirius had found himself as the trusty steed of the girl, who was heavier than she looked, especially for his miserable half-life. She was kind enough not to pull on his ears while he walked her around the table at a slow pace. After the fourth round, and a rather tired whine, he found himself face to face with more people. The rest of the manor’s inhabitants have gathered in the kitchen, staring at him with wide eyes.

Lucinda Greengrass, somehow even hotter than she was at school, stood next to her husband, but Sirius’ eyes were entirely focused on the other three. Harry’s… wife, from the future, like him, and the children. Astoria, if he remembered correctly, had Harry’s black hair, but she looked much more like her mother, a healthy mix between the British pureblood line and the exotic features of the Meditteran Sea.

She also looked like she would jump at him any minute now, and Sirius was confident in saying that he would not be able to bear the weight right now. As if reading his mind, Lily jumped off him, allowing him to turn back into a human.

The shock at his transformation was accompanied by Leonidas drawing his wand. Daphne’s hand on his wrist, pushing it not down but upwards, left sparks of green fire to drop onto Leonidas’ sleeve and caused the man to hiss in pain, drawing his arm back. Sirius blinked, finding himself as tired as before and taking a seat as they did.

Things were starting to sound less like madness and more like reality was far, far stranger than fiction.

“Good morning, Mr. Black,” Daphne said, to break the ice. Her voice was smooth and happy at his appearance, though it was not him that her eyes were focused on. He could see her gaze towards her husband’s back as he continued without a worry in the world. Sirius felt happy for his godson.

“Good morning,” Sirius mirrored, unsure of himself. He shook his head, watching as Lily climbed up the chair next to him, barking at him. Sirius smiled at her before turning to the others. “But please, call me Sirius. You’re Harry’s family after all.”

“Of course, Sirius,” Daphne said, her eyes fixed on the still barking Lily now. She raised an eyebrow when the girl turned to her and laughed. Shaking her head, she turned to the other two children at the table. Teddy, Remus’ son, looked tired, and from what he remembered from Harry’s rather rushed summary, had been shaken by the whole… time travel.

Not that he could blame the boy. He wasn’t dealing with it well either, but twelve years in Azkaban left you with very little common sense to complain about axiomatic contradictions involving the laws of magic.

Then again, he’s never been one for rules, so he imagined Harry wasn’t one either.

“Children, father, mother,” Daphne said, giving Sirius a nod. “As you may know, that’s Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather, and  _ recently proven innocent _ .”

The last part and the heavy-set emphasis on it, were aimed at the man who had begun casting a spell the second he saw him. Leonidas Greengrass had the decency to look ashamed, though Sirius could also not blame him for his reaction, nor his general dissatisfaction at seeing a stranger at his family’s breakfast table. Despite the obvious issues, Leonidas acknowledged him with a silent nod.

“You’ve grown old, Sirius,” Lucinda said. Sirius grinned, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“And you look as good as you did a lifetime ago, Lucy. I wonder if I can say the same about my dear cousins.”

“I’m afraid that the presence of Lucius Malfoy is enough to age any skin,” Lucinda said, her voice taking on that haughty air he knew well. Leonidas looked pained, his eyes begging Sirius to change the topic for fear of his sanity. Sirius turned to Teddy and Astoria, then to Lily.

“Isn’t someone missing?” he asked. Lucinda’s restrained smile became a distinct and unhappy frown.

“Astoria wishes to eat alone,” Lucinda answered. “She’s… not doing well, with the circumstances.”

“Regardless,” Leonidas, in an obvious attempt to divert the conversation to a more bearable topic, spoke up quickly. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, Mr. Black. I am Leonidas Greengrass, I distinctly remember you’ve refused our wedding invitation back in the day.”

“Ah, I’m afraid that wasn’t as much me as it was my family,” Sirius said, nodding. “Someone like me would never cause a scene at the wedding of such a… dear old friend.”

“Yes, very dear,” Lucinda said dryly. “I believe you’ve turned my hair red once during one of your cousin’s birthdays.”

Leonidas groaned audibly, the most disdain-filled emotion he’d shown all morning. Sirius tried and failed to hide his joyous expression at the memory.

“It wasn’t me, it was…” Sirius spoke, fondness and nostalgia in his voice trailing into nothingness when his lips mouthed Bellatrix’s name. He gave it a few tries, and despite the awkward pause found that they patiently waited for him to speak.

The pit in his stomach was gnawing its way outwards, reaching his chest. He felt himself tearing apart from the inside. It was Lily’s hand that made him realize that his breath had stopped. The toddler had ended up grabbing his ear and pulling on it, causing him to lean towards her and giving her more of a surface area to dig into. When he hissed at the sharp pain, she let go, barking at him. He barked back, shaking his head.

“One of the sisters.” Sirius settled, biting his lip. He knew they wouldn’t bring it up, but he still felt embarrassed. Harry had picked up the potions for him, but he wasn’t supposed to take more than one calming draught per day. His eyes settled on the other girl on the table, whose black hair and bright eyes very much reminded him of Harry. “And this little princess is?”

The word made the girl’s eyes light up. She jumped off her chair and gave herself a self-indulgent cough as she prepared to speak.

“Astoria Lyra Potter,” the girl introduced herself. Sirius took a few seconds of taking it all in before his shoulders started shaking. Laughter bubbled up from his stomach, leaving him giggling like a child. Lily didn’t know what he was laughing about, but laughed with him. He looked up, seeing Astoria’s incredibly angry and cute pout and doubling over again. As his laughter subsided slightly, he pointed at Lucinda.

“She, she’s just like you,” he said, a mirthful smile remaining on his face. As the laughter continued, Teddy felt himself infected by it, chuckling alongside the others. Daphne tilted her head towards her mother, and Sirius felt the need to clarify. “At her age, the, I’m sorry what was it again-”

“Sirius,” Lucinda’s voice was warning him of pain, her face slightly red. Leonidas, however, looked uncharacteristically curious, leaning over the table in a subtle motion. Sirius’s grin threatened to split his face.

“The  _ illusions  _ and  _ estimated  _ Heiress Greengrass,” Sirius said, his laughter and attempt at imitation leaving his voice high-pitched like a house elf’s. “When was that again? Your eight birthday? Ninth?”

Lucinda’s embarrassed face turned even redder in anger when even Leonidas had found himself amused by the story. When Daphne joined in, Lucinda hid her face behind her hands, as if trying to hide from the attention. A small hand on her arm made her look up again, meeting Astoria’s gaze.

“It’s alright, grandmummy!” Astoria said, moving in to save her dear grandmother from the embarrassment. “You’re ill-illusions and estimated for me!”

Lucinda, torn between feeling happy about her granddaughter being more and more accepting and protective of her, and the memories of a haunted past.

On Sirius’ head hit the table, his arms over his stomach. Harry walked in on the scene, looking at them with amusement and confusion. “Anything happened?”

“Yes,” Astoria said, still visibly confused. Harry said it was easy to forget she was a child sometimes, but when Sirius saw her innocent eyes peering up at her father, it was hard to consider her anything but a child. “Say, daddy, what does  _ estimated _ mean?”

Teddy fell out of his chair, stumbling out of the room, his hand near his pants. “I, ahahaha, I need to go to the bathroom.”

Leonidas, too, was laughing. His wife, unwilling as always to just let something stand as is, stung his arm with a quick jinx. He grabbed it with a howl, cursing, in Greek. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Astoria gasped, pointing her finger at him. “Mom! Grandpa said a bad word!”

Leonidas spluttered, biting his tongue and turning to his daughter. Daphne smiled at him, and her slightly shaking shoulders betrayed her desire to laugh in response.

“Do you think I would let my children grow up without teaching them the language of my father?” she asked, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “I suppose we’ll have to find a new tutor if we want to continue those lessons.”

Harry blinked, resigning himself to the antics of another early morning with the Potter-Greengrass clan and starting to set the table, using a flick of his wand to summon all the prepared dishes into the dining room.

###

Daphne took a deep breath before taking the last step up the short stairs up to the door of the homely looking building in front of her. Teddy stood next to her, reflecting her thoughts like a mirror with his own expression.

She put her knuckles near the door twice before lowering them again, taking the plunge with a sharp knock. She saw Teddy take a deep breath. She heard shuffling behind the door, steps and finally it opened, revealing the face of Edward Tonks.

Thick eyebrows, big eyes, and in a way she found many of Teddy’s features there as well. Though many people said that Teddy resembled Remus, Daphne had always been of the opinion that he had inherited much more from his grandparents than people cared to notice.

“Yes?” he said. Daphne blinked, realizing she had been staring. The man frowned when he saw the boy next to her. “Good morning, what can I do for you?”

“I apologize for disrupting your Sunday, Mr. Tonks,” she said, smiling her usual pleasantly neutral smile. “Is Mrs. Tonks at home? I need to speak with her.”

The suspicion grew. Very few people knew where they lived, she was certain, and while she could give the excuse that she was a colleague of their daughter, she didn’t want to start with a lie. Not one so easily checked, after all.

“You’re not one of those reporters, are you?” he asked, making it clear that he wouldn’t believe her answer anyway. His eyes moved from Daphne to Teddy, and back. “My wife’s been harassed by you wankers since that damned trial. Leave my family alone.”

As he moved to close the door, Daphne’s foot stopped it from shutting in her face. She frowned, sighing, though happy he had stopped rather than actually bang the door shut.

She didn’t want to start this conversation with breaking and entering, after all.

“Please,” Daphne said. She could try to have her contacted through Dumbledore, or an owl, or even her daughter, but to Daphne, Andromeda Tonks was a friend. And though they were friends under circumstances that were unlikely to ever happen again, Daphne could not just accept approaching her through a third party.

No, this was something she had to do personally.

“Please,” Daphne repeated. “Give me one minute and she can throw me out, but I have to ask her for her help. Someone in my family is sick.”

“Then go to Mungos,” he said, closing the door again.

“Ted?” someone called from the back. Teddy jumped, though whether it was at the voice or the name, Daphne couldn’t tell. He peered into the home, and Daphne, too, leaned further to the right to catch a glimpse. “Is something the matter?”

She stepped into view before Edward,  _ Ted _ , of course, managed to close the door completely. And in return, she caught a sight of Daphne, her eyes widening.

“Lucinda?” Andromeda asked. The familiarity in her voice caused Ted to hesitate and finally relent, opening the door further. The name, however, caused more than that. He thought and looked as if he remembered.

“Mrs. Greengrass?” he asked, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I apologize, I didn’t know. You look different than in Hogwarts, of course-”

“I’m not,” Daphne said quickly, squashing the misunderstanding in the dust. The woman came closer, looking at her in detail. Daphne resisted the urge to smile at the woman who had a striking resemblance to Bellatrix LeStrange. “I’m… I’m Daphne. You won’t believe me, but I need you to hear me out so I can convince you.”

“Daphne?” Andromeda asked, frowning. Ted, once again in recognition, shook his head in disgust.

“You’d use the name of a dead girl for this? How desperate are you, really, that’s just-”

“Very,” Daphne said. She swallowed. “ _ Very _ desperate. Because I’m not lying, and I need someone who knows what they’re doing to help me keep my daughter alive.”

Andromeda’s eyes moved from Daphne to Teddy, dragging Ted away from the door and giving them both once over. Her frown deepened, her eyes narrowing when Teddy’s hair turned from its usual brown to a nervous pale blond.

“Come in,” Andromeda said. They did, taking short steps into the home. When Daphne saw Teddy blinking tears out of his eyes, she took a step towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. She felt it too, the wistful nostalgia, the strange vertigo. It looked exactly the same, sans the baby pictures on the walls.

Andromeda had never quite forgiven Remus and Tonks for dying an, in her opinion, senseless death. Daphne would be the last person who would have insisted she should hang up pictures of their wedding again.

The older woman had once called Teddy ‘the only good thing to come out of this damned family’. Daphne had held her tongue back then. Had she heard those words after her daughter was born, she would have disagreed.

To dismiss one’s daughter as a mistake was the very antithesis to how Daphne had approached parenthood with Harry.

“I really hope you didn’t fake your death and used an aging potion, Ms. Greengrass,” Andromeda said, shaking her head. “Because teen pregnancies happen, I admit, thirteen might be a bit younger than most but…”

Teddy’s look of horror made Andromeda trail off. Daphne couldn’t help herself. She laughed, finding the entire assumption deliciously amusing. “No, nothing quite like that.”

“Alright.” Andromeda didn’t seem entirely convinced, but still led them towards the living room. From the looks of it, she and her husband had been relaxing over some coffee. Daphne noted the smell of an already eaten breakfast lingering. In the corner of the room a crumpled up newspaper that had been tossed there, forgotten, with damp spots over the front page starring Sirius Black.

Ted was still not convinced about their intentions, but went along with his wife. “Do you want some coffee, Ms. Greengrass?”

“No, thank you,” Daphne said, shaking her head. Ted turned to Teddy.

“Anything I can get you?” Ted asked, much friendlier with the boy. Teddy, unable to speak in the face of his grandfather, shook his head. He sat down next to Daphne on a couch across Andromeda. “Alright then. What can we do for you two? You said something about a family member being sick, is this him?”

“No,” Daphne said, sighing. She pursed her lips, unable to find a point to start. Taking the plunge worked with her family, but it was out of necessity, while Amelia had the veritaserum and the trust from the Shafiq case. Here, she wasn’t certain how to approach it. It was Teddy who broke the ice.

“We’re from the future,” Teddy said, only hesitating for a moment before continuing, “and you two are my grandparents.”

“Grandparents?” Ted asked, aghast.

“Grandson?” Andromeda asked, excited. Daphne nodded at them, resisting the urge to chide Teddy for not easing them into it. Or maybe the Black family was really just that insane and could get used to anything you told them. Andromeda might not have twelve years of Azkaban behind her, but she clearly had the boredom of a woman whose child had moved out.

“Yes,” Daphne said, confirming again. Ted shook his head, less than amused by what he thought was clearly some sort of joke. “You’re capable at healing, I know, so you know how to cast the-”

“Yes, yes,” Andromeda waved her off, raising her wand towards the boy. It was a rudimentary spell, one that was no longer used due to the invention of a potion which coloured itself based on paternity.

One that the purebloods welcomed, of course, as the spell which Andromeda cast would, among purebloods, often yield false results due to the rather illustrous and incestuous history. For a more private setting, it was enough.

Teddy began glowing in a soft green hue. Another spell cast at herself revealed the same colour. Ted stood, ready to give his two sickles, but another two quick spells saw the same colours reflecting each other between Ted and Teddy.

“You can’t be telling me you believe them,” Ted said. Andromeda hummed, nodding.

“I do,” she said, crossing her arms. Her eyes, still shining with interest and satisfaction, were not leaving Teddy. “Because that boy looks just like you.”

“He’s a metamorphmagus, he can look however he wants.”

“Not at that age,” Andromeda said. Another spell made her nod in satisfaction. “Definitely not at that age.”

“I can do colours and simple shapes,” Teddy admitted, grumbling. Daphne’s hand on his head was swatted away. “Mum!”

“So, my grandson from the future arrives with Daphne… Tonks?” Andromeda asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did she use a sex change potion or did you find a guy-”

“ _ Why _ ,” Teddy said loudly, slapping his hands over his ears.

_ “Oh my god _ ,” Ted all but shouted, groaning audibly at the question.

Daphne smiled widely. “I’m afraid I’ve adopted him after unfortunate circumstances. I’ve married your grandson’s godfather, Harry Potter.”

That managed to bring the mood down from amused to somber. It was clear to them what those unfortunate circumstances would be, and if it hadn’t been, Teddy’s downward glance to hide his expression would have given it away.

“If you don’t believe me, Amelia Bones has checked me with veritaserum,” Daphne continued, putting one leg above the other. “You can ask her, but that might take a bit. You know about my family curse.”   
  


“Yes,” Andromeda said. She glanced at Ted, then back at Daphne. “It’d be hard not to, considering the media coverage of that… business.”

Daphne took a deep breath. Teddy’s hand on hers made her exhale slowly and nodded. “My daughter is cursed. When we tried to cure her, it instead sent us back in time. We need someone we can trust to stick around and keep an eye on her in case the curse acts up, as St. Mungos is not something we wish to risk for fear of exposure.”

“You trust me?” Andromeda asked. Daphne nodded. “Why?”

“You were my friend,” Daphne said. Admitting their relationship felt strange. It had that sense of loss attached to it. Like a friendship that was and never will be. Something that, even if rekindled through space and time, would never be the same. “You… you were my daughter’s godmother. When my parents died, you were there.”

Her eyes glazed over as she lost herself in memories. Ted, though not quite as willing to buy into the story as his wife, was keeping his mouth shut, watching the situation unfold in confusion and exasperation.

“Is… is Sirius with you?” Andromeda asked eventually. Ted’s sharp intake of breath made Daphne’s eyes move between them.

“Would that be a problem?” Daphne asked. She wasn’t sure how Andromeda felt about the man, though from her earlier observations, she had a few suspicions. When Andromeda shook her head, Daphne smiled. “He’s… the other person we need you to check up on, but he’s not too badly off. He gets potions per owl every week and takes them.”

“Good, that’s… that’s good,” Andromeda said, leaning further into the couch. “I’ve felt nothing but regret since I heard about his innocence. That I wasn’t able to believe in him as much as I should have. He was the only person who’s ever supported Ted and me.”

“Far more people with far more power have failed to do what they should, making people like you and I believe the worst of him,” Daphne said. Her voice held the conviction of almost twenty years of experience in the field and out. The state of the ministry after Voldemort’s fall was a miserable mess, drunken parties of high officials allowing people like Crouch to push their agenda and ruin the life of a man who needed help, not more pain. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened to him. You can absolutely blame Dumbledore, though.”

Andromeda’s sadness was replaced by a choking laughter that bubbled up her chest. “You bet I will do that. We’ll have to talk more, of course, I want to know everything, but first. Young man, what’s your name?”   
  
“Edward,” he said, hesitating for a moment. “Edward Remus Lupin.”

Ted stood up again, ready to rush out of the door. Daphne had no doubt he would hunt down the man who had gotten his daughter pregnant, and before she had to draw her wand, Andromeda had reached out and grabbed the man by his collar.

“We’d prefer if you didn’t tell him,” Daphne said, frowning. “He’s a coward, I don’t trust him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Hey,” Teddy protested weakly. Not that it was with much heart. Though he had told her that his talk with Remus went well, he had simultaneously a higher and a lower opinion of his father. “He’s… not that bad.”

Daphne ignored him, shrugging. “You can tell your daughter, of course, and if she doesn’t believe you, she should ask her boss’ boss. Amelia Bones will back me up.”

“You’re mad,” Ted said, shaking his head. “And you, Andy, I don’t get it. Why would you be willing to believe this… this bullshit?”

“Because,” Andromeda said, looking Daphne in the eye, “I’m a mother.”

Andromeda stood up, walking around the table and over to Teddy who had left his seat out of reflex. She knelt down to be on eye level with him, her hands slowly moving towards his face. Though he looked uncomfortable, he let her be as she checked him over.

Slowly, even more slowly than her soft approach, she wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate or stiffen. He didn’t look uncomfortable at all once she began hugging him. He leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her. Daphne felt her own eyes water when the boy began crying, truly meeting the first familiar face he had left behind in the future.

Ted found himself unable to protest too much afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a Discord here if you want to bully me about the next chapter: https://discord.gg/CXggvnw


	15. River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't hate you."
> 
> That's all Daphne wanted to hear.

###  ### Chapter 15: River

Nymphadora Tonks was not the kind of person who was easily shook. One of her teachers had beaten it out of her early on into the Auror training. Alastor Moody had once rephrased his dogma into something more digestive when he took her and a dozen others under his crutch.

_ If you are surprised, you’ve already lost. _

So she didn’t let her surprise show when her parents had called her one Sunday afternoon and invited her to the Greengrass Manor of all places. She was curious! But not surprised. Because surprise was the enemy.

And as curious as she was, she wouldn’t be able to actually finish her weekend shift. Though things had calmed down by a ton, as Junior she would always have to do more work than her other colleagues. When she told her parents as much, she had a reason for surprise.

“We’ve spoken with Amelia Bones,” her mother said, smiling through the floo call. “You’re free for the day. Please make yourself presentable and come over, we can go together.”

“You’re not going to marry me off to some relative of theirs, are you?” Tonks asked. Andromeda’s smile did nothing to calm her nerves.

“No,” her mother’s curt answer was still accompanied by a suspicious off-wards glance. “You know me better than that, I’d never interfere when it comes to love.”

“You say that, but the last three boyfriends I’ve brought home broke up with me on the way back,” Tonks tried and failed to keep the annoyance out of her voice. It was that damn surprise. “How did you convince Madam Bones to let me off the hook for today?”

Now that the Head Auror seat was vacant, and would be until Madam Bones had enough of handling its affairs by herself, she needed all hands on deck. So whatever her mother had told Madam Bones was either important enough, or worse, her mother had something she could hold over her boss to make her fall in line.

She didn’t know which thought was more terrifying. Andromeda’s slight tilt of her head was all the answer she needed not to push. That bloody ‘you-will-know-soon’ look.

“Alright,” Tonks conceded. “I’ll be there in a bit. But I’m not going to be happy about it.”

She sighed, moving away from the fireplace and towards her wardrobe. She knew that her mother used to be friends with Lucinda Greengrass, it had come up in a conversation not too long ago as they talked about the mysterious deaths of Harry Potter and their daughter.

What would one wear to the meeting with a pureblood family?

She looked at the wardrobe. Easy to move in robes and a few muggle clothes that would likely not fly in the presence of her mother.

###

They arrived together, but not before her mother had forced her to keep her hair in a ‘normal’ colour. The door was answered by a house elf, who greeted them with a bright smile. Leonidas Greengrass came to welcome them.

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Tonks,” he said, shaking Ted’s hand. The last time Tonks had seen the man, he had more vigour in his voice, and had paid much more attention to how he set his hair. Attractive and handsome as he was, the man didn’t seem to have the class to pretend he was enjoying their presence. “Miss Tonks.”

At least that. She smiled at him, shaking his hand with the confidence of a self-made woman and kept her questions to herself when she saw a young boy step up from behind.

“G-good evening,” the boy said, smiling. “It’s not been that long. Do you remember me?”

Tonks thought. She wasn’t that good with faces, ironically enough, minor details always seemed to blend together. It was when the boy’s eye colour shifted slightly that a spark of recognition went through her.

“Right, you’re that boy,” Tonks said, her hair shifting colour to hot pink despite the disapproving sigh of her mother. The boy nodded, his own hair matching hers after a second of concentration. “Shouldn’t you be at Hogwarts?”

“It’s Teddy,” he said. She blinked. “My name is Edward, but all my friends call me Teddy.”

She looked over to her father, who tried and failed to smile.

“We brought him home due to… family affairs,” Leonidas said after a moment of silence. Tonks knew the man, and she knew how he carried himself. His short breathing and the eyes that twitched towards the door were not the kind of behaviour she knew him by, however. There was something going on, something her mother knew, and that she wasn’t being made aware of. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Tonks resigned herself to an awkward afternoon and found herself following her mother towards a large lounge, where they ended up seated next to each other. Her father had ended up following Leonidas rather than joining them, leaving a seat free next to Andromeda. She raised an eyebrow when said woman all but dragged Teddy into the seat. Lucinda Greengrass, Leonidas’ wife, arrived with a kettle floating behind her.

“Mrs. Greengrass,” Tonks greeted with a nod. “Thank you for your invitation.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Lucinda said, smiling. Cups appeared on the table, and the kettle went to work immediately. “I’ve heard so much about you. Please, call me Lucinda.”

“So much, huh?” Tonks asked, once again staring at her mother, who was doting on the boy. She took her cup from the table, bringing it closer to her lips to blow on it. “I have the feeling I’m missing something.”

The house elf from earlier arrived, once more to announce the appearance of a guest. “Miss Lucy! Boney is at the doors!”

Tonks, who was in the process of taking a sip, managed to embarrass herself by breathing strongly out of her nose and sending splatters of boiling tea over her face. She had enough control to put the cup down before waving her wand all over her face to stop pain. The cooling spell caused her to shiver. Through clenched teeth, she hissed the name of her boss. “Madam Bones?”

“I’m afraid you’re not going to get any sick days for boiling your face off, Miss Tonks,” Amelia Bones walked in with the grace of a bird of prey. She was wearing less formal robes than she would at work, but the quality of the cloth spoke for itself. Tonks coughed, standing up. “Sit down.”

Tonks did, slumping back into the chair. Andromeda was laughing at her, leaving Tonks filled with shame and only barely keeping her hair from changing into something that would reveal her feelings. Teddy leaned over her mother and handed her handkerchief. She took it with a small smile, wiping away at the table.

Leonidas and Ted came back, and with them, a small bowl in which there was a white liquid. They put it on the table, and it was only at Ted’s nod that Andromeda turned to Tonks.

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda said. Tonks would have said something, had it not been for the presence of her boss and the lack of humour in her mother’s voice that came with every time she called her name. “Do you trust me?”   
  


“Yes,” Tonks said. What kind of question was that? It was her mother, after all. There were few people she would trust with her life, and fewer still she would go as far as say she would die for, and none of them ranked as high as her parents. “With anything that isn’t naming children.”

“Quite,” Ted managed to say, quietly but not quite quiet enough to be missed. Teddy laughed, earning him a glare from the Junior Auror.

“Do you know the effects of the paternity test potion?”

“Kind of?” Tonks asked. She looked over to Teddy and then to Ted. “You didn’t get Lucinda Greengrass pregnant, did you?”

Ted’s mouth opened, though whatever words were in his mind did not come out, leaving him gaping at his daughter’s accusation. Andromeda chuckled, though Teddy seemed less amused, much like Leonidas.

“Not that I’d blame you, she’s a very-” Tonks found herself continuing without missing a beat, trying to salvage the awkward situation and failing horribly. It was Madam Bones’ disapproving frown that made her trail off and eventually shut up. “It turns red when positive and black when not.”

Andromeda pulled out a dagger from her sleeve, one she knew was there since forever. It was something that she had picked up back when she was still a Black, Andromeda once told her, and it was not something her mother felt comfortable without. When Andromeda handed her the dagger, Tonks found herself grabbing it out of reflex. But her eyes were on the bowl in front of her.

She was about to ask whether Leonidas Greengrass was her father, but she knew better than to test the limits of her mother’s and Madam Bones’ patience. She held her breath, taking the dagger to her palm and cutting once she was Madam Bones nod.

A cut, a sting of pain. Andromeda held her hands over Teddy’s eyes. It ran down her hand, uncomfortably warm, and then dripped into the bowl, painting what once was white into a pale green. She handed the dagger back, and a quick spell saw it cleaned. Another one saw the wound on her palm sealed. She was still holding her breath when she looked around, ready to have the weirdness explained.

She didn’t expect Teddy to hold his hand over the bowl, leaving Andromeda to cut into it with one hand as she kept another over his eyes still. He hissed when the cut appeared, and Tonks stood, ready to protest at his treatment.

Her words died in her throat when the liquid in the bowl turned bright red. Her hair mirrored it momentarily, leaving her to point a finger at the boy who… who looked like she was about to hurt him. His face was downcast, his hair flat against his head in a worried pale blue. She began doing the math in her head, and even if he used his ability to look older than he was, it would not explain the way he spoke or his personality. It didn’t add up.

“He’s your son,” Andromeda said. Tonks took a deep breath, finding herself faint. Her breathing was increasing in intensity, and when her mother tried to get her to drink something she had fished out of her pockets, Tonks resisted.

“ _ How _ ?” she asked, taking steps away from the table.

“Time travel,” Teddy supplied, his voice tiny. She looked at him.  _ Really _ looked at him. She knew how well self-transfiguration worked at that age. She  _ knew _ exactly. She saw the thick eyebrows they shared with Ted. She saw the pale and bright eyes that would tell anyone with the knowledge of their Black ancestry.

She saw Amelia Bones, the most hardass, most competent and most genuine person in the entire Ministry, give her a  _ nod _ .

“I think,” Lucinda spoke up when the silence kept going, “we should leave them to talk.”

She stood up and left with her husband, Amelia Bones following along. It was just the four of them. Andromeda and Ted. Tonks and Teddy.

Teddy was all but hiding behind Andromeda, and Ted looked as uncomfortable as Tonks did.

“Since when did you know?” Tonks asked, her eyes never leaving Teddy’s hunched over form.

“This morning, we were informed and asked to bring you here,” Ted answered, crossing his arms. “I was skeptical at first, but… you know, it’s not the weirdest thing to ever have happened to us.”

“ _ This _ isn’t the weirdest thing?” Tonks asked, waving towards Teddy who flinched. Realizing her choice of words, Tonks did much the same. “I’m sorry, Teddy. I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, moving off the couch. “I’ve seen what something like this does to people, I wouldn’t want to force you to just accept this if you don’t want me-”   
  


His rambling was interrupted by Andromeda’s hug, forcing the boy to shut up and get smothered. Tonks heard his words. They kept repeating in her head. She saw Ted’s eyes filled with pity, whether towards her or at Teddy, she couldn’t say.

“I… don’t  _ not _ want you,” Tonks said, feeling lame at her own choice of words. “This is just too weird. Time travel? Did… did I marry someone from the Greengrass family in the future?”

“No,” Teddy said quickly. “My dad did, a-adopted!”

“Adopted?” Tonks asked, putting aside the question about her future significant other. “Why were you adopted?” His eyes darkened at the question, and she found herself backpedalling. “You don’t need to answer that. Sorry.”

“You… died doing your job,” Teddy said. Ted’s upset shuffling revealed his true feelings for the first time. The reason why he wasn’t as calm as her mother was. The truth. Tonks paled, her hand moving to her mouth. “My father died too, so I went to live with my godfather, who adopted me. Grandmum came over to visit often, too.”

She could see it happening. She knew, somehow, that it was the truth. And though she knew that nobody here was lying to her, that her mother was better than to be fooled by someone, and that her father had the expertise to spot a correct batch of the still red potion on the table-

She couldn’t help but feel  _ bad _ . Because this boy was laying his heart on the table, and she wasn’t able to feel like… like it mattered. She was a mother? She didn’t feel like one. She died an Auror? Where was the pride that should swell up in her chest?

This was her son?

So why was she not able to walk those meager steps towards him and show him affection as easily as her mother was?

“There’s more,” Andromeda said, ripping into her thoughts with a harsh tone. “His adoptive parents, they came with him. Amelia Bones is aware of them, and so is Dumbledore. You mustn’t tell  _ anyone _ about them.”

“Alright,” Tonks said, nodding. She gathered herself, walking towards Teddy. He looked at her, hopeful, confused. They were both strangers to each other, and though he knew she was his mother, she could tell that he was feeling similar doubts about her than she did about him. “Teddy.”

“Yes?”

She frowned. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t feel like a mother. I’m not sure how to talk with you, or what to say to you, and I’m not sure I’d do a better job than your adoptive parents already did.”

“That’s fine,” Teddy said, smiling. She hated how mature his response was. How content he was that confusion reigned in her rather than rejection. How bright his smile was when she couldn’t give him one of her own. “I’m just glad I was able to meet you. It feels like a dream.”

“A good one, I hope,” Tonks said. She looked at her mother whose face was already urging her to do  _ something _ . “Can I talk to your parents? I want… I want to talk to them.”

She wanted to talk to the person she apparently made the godfather of her son. She wanted to see what kind of future she would have. She wanted to find out who the boy’s father was.

Tonks raised her hand and found herself patting the boy’s head, combing through his hair with her fingers. He felt warm and real, and his smile, ever brighter, made her eyes sting to the point of unshed tears.

She didn’t have it in her to tell him no when he wrapped his arms around her.

And despite her discomfort, when she heard the muffled word ‘mum’ spill from his lips and into her stomach, she suddenly understood how her mother felt. That feeling that someone like her, who was a walking disaster waiting to happen, could help make something like him. Andromeda left them alone, dragging Ted with her.

###

One might think that she should be able to smile at the scene in front of her, two children hanging off him as they play-wrestled on the carpet.

For a moment, she had wondered if that could have been Nymphadora, had she fought tooth and nail to keep him out of Azkaban. If she could have kept her family together. If she hadn’t forced Narcissa to become Malfoy’s bride, and stayed with Bellatrix before she went insane. Andromeda Tonks hated her cowardice, and she hated that part of her brain that kept making excuses for herself. She didn’t deserve them.

And Sirius, he was playing catch up. Every joy that he would have had when raising Harry had he not been imprisoned. Every smile that had been taken from him.

When Sirius’ eyes met hers, the girls overwhelmed him. Ted had left to speak with Harry and Daphne, though she knew that was just an excuse to give them the privacy they needed. Andromeda stepped into the room, the sisters, Astoria and Lily if she remembered correctly, smiled at her with wide eyes.

“Grammy!” Astoria shouted, shoving away from Sirius to tackle her. Lily, more gentle, stepped away from the man and toddled over with her arms wide, wrapping them around the older woman’s leg. Sirius pushed himself off the floor, still quiet as he watched them. Andromeda bent down to wrap her arms around the girls.

What a beautiful family. And what a beautiful time they would have with each other. She smiled at Sirius. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it, Sirius?”

“It felt so much longer,” Sirius said, stepping up to her. The girls made way for the two to properly meet. Andromeda’s hand moved to his shoulder, then up his neck and his face. She imagined he was doing with his eyes what she was doing with her hands. Looking for the signs of age. The stories that they could not share in their years apart.

“Careful, girls,” Andromeda said, smiling. “This old man might break a bone if you are too rough with him.”

“Bold words, Mrs. Tonks,” Sirius said, a half-grin on his own face. “I believe you’ve had yourself a child before I graduated Hogwarts, if I’m old, you must be ancient.”

“Still no tact.” Andromeda hugged him. He was sweating and shaking. Thin, but better than what she remembered from the picture in the newspaper. “And still stinking like an old dog. You need a shower, Sirius.”

He responded by rubbing the greasy mop he would call his hair into her face. She pushed him away, taking a good look at the girls. She hadn’t met Harry Potter yet, but she knew what the boy looked like, she knew well what his father had looked like.

And there was no way those two could ever be parent and grandparent to something this adorable. Once more, she saw Nymphadora in the girl’s place, smiling up at her.

Sirius snapped his fingers in front of her, causing her to look back up. His wide grin made her smile as well.

“I don’t think Harry would like it if you tried to keep her,” he said. Andromeda bent down again, lifting up both girls and holding them close.

“But look at them, Sirius,” she said. Lily giggled, while Astoria puffed up with pride. “Look at how cute they are.”

“I’m cuter,” Astoria insisted. Lily barked at her. Clearly not made to carry the weight of a ten year old, Andromeda nearly tripped when Astoria leaned forward to stick her tongue out at her sister. Sirius helped out, grabbing Andromeda’s shoulder and keeping her upright with one arm while taking Astoria with the other. “And now I’m taller!”

She climbed up Sirius’ shoulder and peered down at them. Lily looked jealous, pointing her arms forward so Sirius could grab her too. He laughed, putting his hands under Astoria’s armpits and lowering her to the ground, which caused her to pout at him.

“Sorry girls,” he said, watching as Andromeda did the same to Lily. “We need a bit of privacy to talk. Teddy is going to leave for Hogwarts tonight, why don’t you play with him until then?”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Astoria took Lily’s hand and led her out of the room. She stopped suddenly in the doorway, turning around to wave and bid goodbye. “See you later, Grammy!”

Andromeda waved back. The room felt much more empty without the girls, and yet somehow the fact that they’ve been here had brightened the mood considerably. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

“Nonsense,” he said quickly. Observant as always. “There’s a long list of people who I’d welcome apologies from, people who should crawl on their knees and beg for forgiveness, but not you. Never you.”

“I’ve not done my duty as your family, I’ve let myself be blinded by the hateful news and the accusations of a corrupt government,” Andromeda said, the weight of her words causing her head to fall in shame. “I should have known.”

“No,” Sirius said. He took a few steps back, sitting down on the bed of one of the girls. Andromeda joined him, taking a seat as well. “I can only blame the people with the power to have stopped that madness. We were both cast out, nobody would stand in our defence. I didn’t stand with you when your father threw you out because you’ve followed your heart.”

“You were a child, Sirius, you can’t compare that with  _ this _ .” Andromeda made a rough motion towards his chest, where one of the cruel scars he had received in prison was peeking out over his shirt. “I couldn’t even overcome my cowardice to invite you to us when… when it was your turn to be cast out. Had it not been for Auntie Dorea…”

“You had a child to worry about.” Sirius dismissed her concerns. “I couldn’t force you to take care of another one, we all know I wasn’t at my best back then.”

“I’d ask how you’ve been  _ now _ ,” Andromeda said, a hand on his arm. She could wrap her thumb and middle finger around to have their tips meet. “But I don’t think I’m ready for that answer yet.”

Sirius shook his head. “Life is good, Andy. Being here is like healing.”

“They’re good people, aren’t they?” Andromeda’s conflicted feelings aside, and Leonidas Greengrass being kind of a bastard being part of the course for a lot of pureblood men, Andromeda could not say that she had seen anything that would make her think otherwise.

Besides maybe the news of dragging your children into a weird ritual, even accidentally. She understood the reasoning behind the attempt, she did not have many kind words for the lack of precaution.

“Yeah. They’re the best.” Sirius’ smile was wistful and happy. His eyes shone with the honesty of his statement. “You… know about the younger, right? Lily.”

“Yes,” Andromeda said. Of course, she was the reason why Daphne had decided to invite her. The reason these secrets were being revealed to her family. She hoped that Nymphadora could keep an open mind about it. The boy didn’t need another mother. Daphne was… adequate. “I’m being… hired. They want to call me when Harry isn’t available.”

“Good, good, that’s…” Sirius trailed off, his eyes moving towards the door. “I have a trip with him planned tomorrow, something from our old family home. Is there anything you want me to pick up?”

“There is nothing,” Andromeda said out of reflex. She shook her head. “No, nevermind. There is something, if it’s still there. A… painting,  _ that _ painting.”

Sirius nodded. He understood perfectly.

###

Daphne held her breath as she checked the enhancements around the ritual room, sealed so tightly with spells so obscure that it would take a decade of research to unseal it without causing the interior to be cleaned in flames.

The Horcruxes were gathered, at least all but two. The ring, which Harry wanted to keep where it was until it was time to do the deed, and the locket which he would pick up tomorrow with Sirius.

Voldemort’s wraith was still around, and even the destruction of the Horcruxes might not be enough to end him until one final death.

A final death that Daphne and Harry were more than happy to grant him.

She shook her head from the dark thoughts, moving away from the room and down the hallway, turning the corner only to be face-to-chest with her little sister. Astoria had mellowed out slightly, though she still refused to eat dinner with them, she was not hiding in her room and insisting Moppy bring her food there during breakfast.

But she was still weird around Daphne. Only around Daphne. To the point where she had wondered whether her words were too harsh, or perhaps if she pushed Astoria too much.

“Good evening,” Daphne said, forcing herself to smile. Astoria shuffled for a moment before speaking up.

“Good evening,” Astoria responded. “I’m… I wanted to talk to you.”

Daphne didn’t let the surprise show on her face. Instead, she walked with the girl as she brought them down the hall, up the stairs, and further to their old room. Astoria’s current room. She walked in, enjoying the memories that resurfaced. The wallpaper that they’ve picked together. The soft beds. The hole in the wall?

“Why is there a hole in the wall?”

“I was mad,” was all the answer Astoria was willing to give. “And I’m  _ still _ mad, but I’m… I’m slightly less mad.”

Eloquent as she was precocious, Astoria stomped around the room for a moment before gathering herself to speak again.

“I’m not a… a basket case,” Astoria said suddenly. Daphne found herself nodding, which seemed to be the correct response, as Astoria continued unabashed. “You… you said it yourself. I’m a child. I don’t know how to deal with my feelings properly. I’m angry and I’m tired. And I want to stop being angry and tired.”

Daphne nodded again. This time, Astoria turned around and bent down under her bed, grabbing a box. She pulled it out and lifted it onto her bed. Daphne stepped up, looking into it. It held various things she remembered staring at when her sister died. Memories of times long past.

On top of everything lay a small book. Something she did not remember being there.

“Potte-, I mean, Harry. He told me that it might be good to gather all of this,” Astoria said, opening the book. It was full of pictures. Photographs of the past few years. Daphne could see her younger self smiling at the camera, holding onto the toddler Astoria. In another, Daphne could see the day before Hogwarts. Daphne in her robes holding her wand, Astoria off to the side and laughing at something her mother was saying. “He said it’s to deal with… grief.”

“He understands children better than me,” Daphne admitted. It wasn’t something unusual to hear him giving the right kind of advice to people who needed it. Though Harry would insist she was doing an amazing job, it was hard considering herself an amazing parent like him when she spent so little time with them. “Did it help?”

Astoria didn’t answer. The young girl’s fingers traced over the pages, moving through until they reached the end of the book’s filled pages. A picture of Astoria and her Hogwarts letter in her hands, sleeping as she leant over a desk, and Daphne putting a blanket on her.

“You can’t replace her,” Astoria said. “Nobody can.”

Daphne nodded. “I’m not trying to replace her.”

“I know that now, but… it still feels like you’ve taken her place. I hate it, how everyone can accept you just being there, how they’re not sad at all about Daphne dying, how people are just comfortable with this whole… thing.”

Daphne had the feeling that Astoria would have used a much more cruel word than ‘thing’ if this conversation had happened on Friday. “People grieve differently, Astoria.”

“ _ I know _ ,” Astoria said, giving her a limp shrug. “I know. I know mother becomes ridiculously attached to someone, I know father drinks at night, when he thinks everyone else has fallen asleep. I know I cry, a lot. And I throw tantrums. And then I get uncomfortably tired, like I could lie down and never wake up again.”

“Did you think if you did what they did, you’d feel better?” Daphne asked. Astoria shook her head slightly, but turned around and nodded instead.

“Kind of, I just… don’t know. I want to stop feeling like you’re a bad person, because I  _ know _ you aren’t, but…”

“It’s fine if you think that way,” Daphne said, the inflection in her voice betraying her real feelings. “I told you, I’d never want to force anything on you, I just hope that we can be comfortable around each other.”

“You really don’t get it!” Astoria said. She hesitated. “That’s why I can’t get along with you, because you keep doing  _ this _ .”

She waved her hand at Daphne, as if that would answer anything. At her failure to respond to the non-cryptic accusation, Astoria deigned her with an explanation.

“You told me to say what  _ I _ want, you think that’s what would make me happy, but that’s not how Daphne would react at all,” Astoria clarified, her voice rising. “You say you want us to stop being uncomfortable around each other, but that’s not true at all. You just want me to be happy!”

“And what’s wrong with you being happy?” Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think those two things are mutually exclusive.”

“Because if I needed you to be unhappy for me to be happy, you’d do it, and that’s  _ bad _ . It’s like we’re speaking a language we don’t share.”

“You’re right, because when I talk with you I feel like I’m ten years old instead of thirty,” Daphne said, rubbing her nose. “What can I do that would make you happy? Something I can give you, something that isn’t impossible.”

“ _ This _ ,” Astoria hissed, pointing an accusing finger at Daphne. “You’re not even listening to me. You think you can fix it by bribing me, like, like they always did when I was younger. That I’d stop being upset and angry and sad just because you give me something I ask for. I’m not that child anymore, Daphne!”

“You’re right,” Daphne repeated her earlier words with a soft sigh, her shoulders sagging. “I know you’re right. I don’t know what would make you happy, because you’re not the same as my daughters.”

“ _ Daphne _ would now,” Astoria said. Her voice rose with the emphasis, but quieted down when she continued. “My sister would know.”

“I don’t think so,” Daphne said, shaking her head. Astoria’s glare was met with an apologetic smile. “She would smile and go along with what you wanted, but now you’re not even sure of what you want yourself.”

“I  _ hate _ you.” Astoria’s words were like a sharp knife, ripping through the air and carving misery onto Daphne’s face. Daphne nodded, her face downcast.

“I know.”

Astoria deflated, drawing her knees up to her face and her arms around her stomach. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t hate you.”

Daphne said nothing. Astoria reached under her bed again. An old magical polaroid camera was in her grasp when she stood. “I’m going to Hogwarts with Teddy. Mother and father already said yes. They’re going to have Professor Snape keep an eye on me.”

Daphne nodded, her eyes still fixed on the camera. Astoria climbed onto the bed, handing Daphne the camera and after a short moment of hesitation, wrapping her arm around the older woman. “I want a picture with you.”

Daphne nodded, holding the camera up and fumbling with the button for a moment. They were momentarily blinded by the flash and within seconds the proud owners of a new picture. Daphne wished Astoria hadn’t let go of her so fast. She wished she could keep feeling her sister’s warmth.

“We’ll… I’ll see you later, Daphne,” Astoria said quietly, her eyes fixed on the picture. “At dinner.”

Daphne smiled at her. “Of course, Astoria.”


	16. Defying Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry hated Walburga Black. And yet, here he stood, using all the haughtiness that Daphne had taught him to speak with her.

###  ### Chapter 16: Defying Gravity

Any distraction would be welcome to Daphne during these trying times, and a cup of tea with Amelia Bones was certainly not something she cared to pass up. Now that Sirius Black was with them at the Greengrass Manor, despite her father’s half-hearted protests.

Their extended family coming to visit them freely would also be nice, and her tentative peace she made with her sister was obviously something she could enjoy, but just for once, she wanted to feel like she was at work again.

Thus, the discussion about once and future crimes took place in the offices of the DMLE, behind locked doors, and a plethora of files between the cups of tea on the table.

From unsolved murders, to grand theft, and even the crimes not yet committed which could be stopped. Amelia Bones appreciated both the insights and the sheer amount of information that Daphne had made her own. The best file, after all, was the one you didn’t need to write down.

But Amelia had more to discuss than just the files. Daphne could see it in her eyes. “Is something the matter, Madam Bones?”

“To be frank, it’s difficult for me to accept being in the debt of someone,” Amelia said. Daphne nodded, understanding the feeling quite well. And raising her hands as Harry would, saying that she needn’t worry about it and that there were no debts open, was not something Amelia would accept. “And as much assistance as I’ve offered you, I feel like you’ve given me much more. What can I do for you to make us even?”

“I want to work here again,” Daphne said, smiling. Amelia leaned back in her chair. “Not to say I want your seat, I imagine that’d be unlikely to become reality for a long time, if that were possible after the mess that the truth about our apparent revival will certainly bring.”

“And hiring someone as Auror or even an administrator in the Department isn’t exactly possible under your circumstances.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” Daphne shrugged, looking towards the door. Her fingers traced the intricate engravings on her cup, moving up and down. “You can always grease a few wheels to have a fake identification set up, but I’d rather begin said job once all our business is concluded.”

“Please do avoid talking about bribery in front of me,” Amelia said, her soft smirk revealing the woman’s amusement. “It’s difficult enough to justify not just filling you up with truth serum and letting you spill everything you know about our cold cases.”

“It’s strange, usually I would think you were being serious, but just now that sounded like you were making a joke, Madam Bones.”

“Care to find out?” Amelia leaned over the desk. Daphne’s brilliant smile made the woman laugh slightly. “You seem to be doing well. I wouldn’t wish to be presumptuous and say happier.”

“Things are going well, my family wakes up with smiles in the morning rather than frowns,” Daphne said, lifting her cup up to her face. “I just wish I was more productive. While Harry is running around doing things, I wish I had something to do.”

“You can’t do what he does?”

“Not as well, and there are many things that I can do that he wouldn’t be able to,” Daphne said, more than proud of the fact. Amelia nodded, humming along. “And our current… situation is not exactly the orthodox kind of thing that Madam Potter of the DMLE has expertise with. If I had to put it into words, I would say that I am a hammer. Blunt, swung with great force, and effective at doing what it’s meant to do. Our circumstances don’t require a hammer. Ten years ago, it’d be different.”

“How so?” Amelia asked. Daphne knew that the woman in front of her had much more interest in the future than was healthy, and they both understood that Daphne was holding certain information back. In her shoes, Amelia would have done the same, which is why she didn’t push unless she had the right angle.

“Back then, our circumstances had us in the other position,” Daphne said. She clenched a fist, moving her eyes away from Amelia. “When faced with adversity, I would stop and think. Harry would be the hammer. If I was slowly cutting into the wall, Harry would swoop in and shatter it.”

“I must admit, I find it hard to believe, though what little I know about Mr. Potter from my niece,” Amelia fished for the right words, gesturing wildly. Daphne just nodded, understanding the conclusion of the sentence without any further words. “When have you decided to become the… hammer?”

“When, after my first pregnancy, I began the Auror training,” Daphne said. She frowned. “Though my heritage and my unique position made a mockery out of it. People treated me with velvet gloves, and despite quick and easy promotions, I had to work five times as hard to prove my worth, because if I hadn’t I would forever be that pureblood princess married to the Boy-Who-Lived.”

The fact that she was a war hero was more of a point of pride, but the proper way to begin that conversation wasn’t given yet.

“I don’t doubt your interpretation about yourself,” Amelia said, very much sounding like she doubted the interpretation Daphne had of herself, “you just don’t seem very interested in breaking down obstacles.”

“Shatter them,” Daphne corrected. She wasn’t sure why she was so insistent on the word, but it felt right. “Like I said, it’s just… not the time. There might be in the future, but right now, flying under the radar as the Muggles like to say is preferable over being blatant and in everyone’s faces.”

“And you say that Mr. Potter is good at that?”

“Harry is…” Daphne trailed off, unable to keep the smile from her face at the thought of her husband. “Harry is more like a sword. Forged in a different kind of fire, sharp and almost kind. When it comes to connecting with people and looking at things from a different angle, he’s…”

Amelia pursed her lips. “Almost like Chief Warlock Dumbledore?”

“On his worst days, maybe,” Daphne conceded. She took a sip of the tea. More lukewarm than hot now. “I said  _ almost _ kind. You have to remember that the times we’ve lived through were not peaceful, it’s something I’d like to discuss with you if you’re willing to give me more of your time.”

“If it’s work, I have all the time in the world,” Amelia said. “Unlike you, I don’t have a husband and children waiting at home.”

“I’d like for you to humour me,” Daphne said suddenly.

“You say that like I haven’t been humouring you for the past month and some more,” Amelia said. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Daphne continued.

“You and I both know that Voldemort’s followers are not gone,” Daphne said. Amelia nodded, grimacing at the thought. “And that on the inevitable day that my family is revealed to the world, which is fast approaching as we trust more and more people to keep our secrets, they will come for us.”

“The Ministry is more than willing to offer you a protective detail,” Amelia said without hesitation. “If need be, we could change your names and hide you. Nobody would ever have to find out.”

“They will,” Daphne said with confidence. “But we’re prepared. Precautions have been on our mind since the first night we’ve arrived here. So please, humour me.”

Amelia nodded, waiting for Daphne to gather her thoughts. It took a minute for her to begin talking once more.

“If all marked Death Eaters were to gather in one spot, clearly revealing their intent to continue their group efforts,” Daphne began, giving Amelia a hard look, “but were caught in the process and died fighting against the people who would stop them, would you say the Ministry would concern itself too much?”

“I would say that the Ministry would be more willing to move on if they were found to have turned on each other,” Amelia said, catching the gist of what Daphne was telling her. “Or perhaps one of the more volatile spells has gone awry when one person thought to kill another and accidentally burned everyone down with them.”

“I suppose such would be the way of things when dark wizards meet in the dead of night,” Daphne said, smiling into her cup. Amelia Bones had no love for Death Eaters. Her family’s deaths at the hands of Voldemort’s followers had seen her become the woman she was now. A war veteran, hard but fair. “One might argue that this is not the correct course of justice.”

“One might argue that, yes,” Amelia nodded. “And thus, the Ministry would  _ never _ condone such an action, were it in planning. As this is a hypothetical situation, however, I would say that if such a thing happened and the Ministry were too late to stop it, it would be unlikely to be pursued further than necessary.”

“I have information for you that might be… concerning, something you might wish to confirm for yourself but mustn’t.”

“If it’s something you think could cause damage to the country, I would appreciate your honesty.”

“It’s not that. We have everything under control, but for that one in a million chance we do not, I need  _ someone _ to know.”

“Try me.”

Daphne frowned into her cup, giving the woman an appraising gaze. In the end, their agreement has worked out, and if she ever wanted to return to her position or do any work in the Ministry, she’ll have to continue trusting Amelia. She nodded.

“Voldemort is not gone.” Daphne’s voice was clinical. Amelia’s cup slipped from her hands, stopped by a quick spell of Daphne’s. “However, we have been taking care of him.”

“Taking care?” Amelia asked, the edge in her voice betraying her thoughts. “You’ve been telling me that monster has cheated death somehow, what makes you so sure you have this under control? Should we not call the Aurors together? Organize Hit Wizards? Is this not far, far higher on the list of priorities than Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew? Dare I say far more important than your daughter?”

Amelia would not regret her choice of words.

But the pang of guilt when she remembered the girl’s bright smile did sting.

“Say, Madam Bones,” Daphne said, her voice calm and easygoing as it was in every conversation with the department head. “Do you know what a Horcrux is?”

Amelia’s face went pale, giving her answer instead of her words. Daphne nodded once more, giving the woman an appraising gaze.

“We’ve gathered the pieces of Voldemort’s soul, using the knowledge we’ve had of them, and are currently preparing a ritual, something that will cause him to die, regardless of where he is hiding.”

“ _ Pieces _ ?” Amelia asked, her voice faint. “You should hand them over to the Unspeakables then-”

“No, we shall not.” Daphne shrugged as she leaned back into her chair. Amelia didn’t look happy at being rebuked, but had enough respect for her not to turn the suggestion into a demand. “Like I said, things are being taken care of.”

“Of course,” Amelia said, sounding largely unconvinced. “Pray tell, Madam Potter. Would you answer me one more question?”

“Of course, Madam Bones.”

“This plan of yours,” Amelia tapped the table, frowning. “Is that the hammer or the sword?”

Daphne smiled a smile that would make the likes of Sun God Apollo envious.

###

Harry walked into the dusty old building with a smile on his face. As miserable as the aesthetic was, and as soul-sucking the mere aura of the building felt, Harry felt positively elevated by the fact that he could grab the last piece of the puzzle that was his would-be-nemesis now.

Furthermore, he felt happy that he could finally access the once-upon-a-time burned collection of books that the Blacks had gathered over the years. Fools would tell you the old pureblood families trusted the goblins to keep their grimoires safe, the patrician choice to any racist family would forever be the cozy safety of their homes which smelled like a family gathering of the House of Habsburg.

It was one thing to give the goblins money, but knowledge was another matter entirely.

Sirius seemed a bit weirded out, though whether it was Harry’s gleeful expression or the resurfaced memories of his childhood, Harry couldn’t tell. He nodded at the man, and Sirius took a shuddering breath, his shoulders uncomfortably swaying up and down for a moment before he spoke.

“Kreacher,” Sirius said quietly. The elf appeared without hesitation, though not with an expression that would say he was glad to be there. Had the little bugger been capable of it, it would have been more than just a mere glare that he would have thrown at Sirius. “Shut up.”

And just like that, the tirade was stopped in its tracks. Kreacher didn’t stay silent, however, he began to bash his head against the wall and summon various kitchen appliances to throw as loud a tantrum as possible. The wonderful painting of Walburga Black exploded into motion and began to screech.

Until she caught sight of Harry.

An immobilizing spell later saw Kreacher on the ground, struggling against his binds while making as little sound as possible. Harry approached the painting, his fingers intentionally playing with the ring on his finger.

“It seems you’ve seen this ring before,” Harry said, smiling widely. Walburga’s expression morphed between sneer and gaudy smile.

“Yes, the Greengrass family,” Walbura said, her eyes on Harry’s hand. The goblin-made rings were, after all, a symbol of status. To wear them was to tell the world ‘we are here’. “You’ve chosen well, half-blood bastard.”

From anyone else, the insult might have sounded like one, but from Walburga Black it sounded like a matter-of-fact. A simple statement that was, while demeaning, not exactly said to  _ be _ such. Harry’s smile widened as he gave the woman a mock bow.

“I need answers,” Harry said, twisting the ring on his finger when he righted himself up again. Sirius was, against all sense of sanity, wrestling with Kreacher to keep the little idiot on the ground. “In exchange, I shall avenge Regulus Black.” That made Kreacher stop. “If you are unwilling, I’ll find my answers in your books. You’re dead. Less than that, you’re a painting. The only way your family legacy gets to live on is through me and my children.”

“Children?” Her expression turned slightly less sour. “The price you are offering isn’t something you can offer freely. It’s a price paid in blood, Potterspawn. You’re no murderer. But your children, that waste of air behind you, he has no place in this home.”

“If you want me to kick him out, that’s not an issue,” Harry said. Sirius said something sounding suspiciously close to ‘I don’t want to be here anyway’. Harry continued, shrugging at the animated paint. “But I have the feeling you want something much more unreasonable.”

“I believe you’ll find me to be quite reasonable,” Walburga’s voice was tight. Colder when Sirius’ scoff echoed through the dusty hall. “How many children do you have?”

“Three,” Harry answered.

“All of Black blood?” she asked.

Harry nodded. Though Nymphadora’s relation to the cast-out Andromeda was not something he cared to extrapolate on. Walburga hummed as she thought.

“Sirius was a fool,” Walburga said, more than happy to pretend the man wasn’t standing there. Kreacher had finally stopped struggling. “But you, you’re not one, not as such. You had enough sense to marry a woman of good standing, to have children of good stock. I want one of them.”

“No,” Harry said quickly, his own voice mirroring hers. Of course. Reasonable his arse. “There is no way in hell I would let anyone of this family touch them. What would you even do? Spit paint at them?”

“Stay calm, Potter, I’m doing you a favour,” she said. Harry held his tongue, but his expression must have betrayed his thoughts. The crackling magic around his fist as he balled it would have done so anyway. “I want an heir, a proper one. Not a failure.”

Harry considered telling her that his family was absolutely not buying into the pureblood agenda, and that his marrying of Daphne had been less about politics and blood and more about an awkward proposal at a bus stop during a rainy night.

She let him try again, at least.

But there wasn’t necessarily something  _ wrong _ with having one of the girls take on the Black name, or even Teddy, should he wish. The name carried power, it carried a certain amount of wealth, and it had, as strange as it sounded, less baggage than the Potter name.

Furthermore, Daphne would, even if she denied it,  _ love _ to hold the Black family as an asset. He couldn’t help it, Harry enjoyed it when she became power hungry.

“I’ll consider it, but I must share what I need to know before you can make your own decision,” Harry said. He could always just burn the painting if she had the inclination to rescind on her deal. Walburga nodded, urging him to continue. “My youngest daughter is afflicted by a curse, and it will take her life.”

“The Greengrass curse, yes,” she whispered, as if saying it out loud would cause it to strike. “You seek our knowledge to cure family. If I had not found respect for you before, I certainly would now, Potter. I can’t give you what you seek, but I can give you things that  _ might _ help you. Long ago, the Blacks were cursed as well. How it was cured, I don’t know, but if the answer lies anywhere, it’s in the family book.”

“The family book which has half of its branches ripped out of and burned?” Sirius challenged. Walburga, finally deigning him with an answer, turned her nose up and glared.

“You would think so, of course,” she said, shaking her head in disgust at the prospect of talking to him. “No, as much as some wished it, there was one book that was untouched from the… purging. The original grimoire with which our history predates many more nations.”

Of course Harry knew that the ‘purge’ was merely the pruning of unwanted people in their family tree to pretend they were wholly ‘pure’, but decided to keep the mockery on the down low until the… negotiation could continue.

“If the information proves helpful enough,” Harry said, nodding. “ _ If _ it cures my daughter, then the Blacks will have an heir. I trust that Sirius will not complain.”

Sirius, not happy to deal with his mother, but more than happy to help Harry and Lily, nodded as well. “You won’t see me complaining if it helps. For all I care this house can die forgotten.”

“The Dark Lord’s dogma might have been appropriate to us, but there is something that we shall never forgive,” Walburga, once more ignoring Sirius, turned to Harry. “In spilling blood of those we considered our family, of my beloved son, the heir to the House of Black, he has committed a sacrosanct act, a feud must be declared. You say you will avenge him.”

“I will,” Harry said, nodding. “I am here to get an object which will help with that. Voldemort has created Horcruxes, I would hope that I needn’t explain those to you.”

“Disgusting but effective, and not easy to find. Had I had help in creating one I might not be a painting today.”

Harry ignored the disgust that crawled up his back and left his hair standing on end. He shrugged, the exaggerated motion drawing the woman’s attention to his hands. Whatever she saw in them seemed to steel her resolve, and she gave a resolute nod.

“My son’s murderer, defeated. Your child as the heir of Black.”

“And in exchange,” Harry said, clenching his fist. “All you know, and all you can give me that is hidden from me.”

“A fair deal, wouldn’t you say, Potter?” Her predatory smile made Harry sigh. He turned to Sirius, giving him an apologetic look. Sirius shrugged back at him, seemingly more concerned about the fact that his mother kept enough of her sanity in that painting to even talk at a tone that could be considered ‘conversational’. “You shall find the book behind this painting. It’s protected by a lock, one that Sirius will not be able to open, and should you force it, will destroy the hidden objects found inside.”

“Can I open it?” Harry asked. She shook her head. “Then who? I dread the answer would be Bellatrix, but I’m afraid she is rather indisposed.”

“Her, yes, or her younger sister, Narcissa,” Walbura confirmed. Her smile revealed that she took no small amount of delight at Harry’s annoyance. “The failure behind you and that mudblood loving tramp were disowned, and in accordance with our laws, denied access from the vault of this home.”

“Gringotts didn’t seem to care,” Harry said, his eyes moving between Sirius and Walburga once more. The painting scoffed, giving him a condescending look.

“My brother was a fool,” Walburga said, continuing to add to her long list of family members she had no kind words for. “Last year, before he died, he decided to leave everything to Sirius. Bellatrix, insane. Narcissa, married to a man who would waste the Black fortune on bribes and whores. Andromeda, spreading her legs for inferior blood. Somehow, by process of elimination, that heap of trash was the only thing left to do. But Cygnus couldn’t undo what I had done, and if you wish to see what the Blacks were so willing to hide behind blood and magic, you will need the help of my dear nieces.”

“Fuck,” Harry summarized. Frowning, he measured the painting up. Walburga wasn’t stupid. She was aware that it was unlikely to get the help of those sisters, and she also understood that unless Harry could actually get what she promised out of the deal, he would let the Black name die out with Sirius’ blessing. “I imagine you don’t have any insights on how to convince Narcissa Malfoy to make her way here and open that painting of yours up for us, do you?”

Walburga thought for a moment. He could see her measuring the advantages and disadvantages of offering him aid. In the end, the only way she could get what she wanted was if he did, but at heart, that woman, in life and in death, was a petty and abusive bully.

It was Sirius who broke the silence after the question, putting an arm around Harry.

“You could try to charm her,” Sirius said. Harry shuddered at the suggestion. “Write pretty words in a letter, make pretty eyes at her, offer her pretty gems.”

“It’s not the worst suggestion,” Walburga said, cutting Harry’s protest off. The disgusted look on his face made Sirius laugh, and even Walburga seemed too happy at his discomfort. “If she has not changed in those years, she is easily swayed by words and gifts. She was here when her father died, and she did not give the impression of someone who has grown up from that child that visited Hogwarts and was seduced by the silky words of a Malfoy.”

“A bribe,” Harry conceded. He hummed, crossing his arms “Something to offer her in exchange for her help, she might demand a contract that gives Draco whatever is left of the Blacks.”

“He will not.” Walburga, however, was unyielding. “Abraxas was a coward and a traitor, he had tried to pin the blame of his petty plot against the Minister of our time on our family, and I shall not accept his spawn touching the Black fortune.”

“Of all people to use petty as an insult,” Sirius muttered, walking back to Kreacher. “Well, at least she hasn’t suggested a marriage contract yet. Imagine trying to explain that to little Astoria.”

Harry’s wand knocked Sirius onto his ass with a silent spell. Sirius coughed out a laugh, though the amusement quickly left his face when Harry’s expression shifted from contemplating to stone.

“I have something of a plan,” Harry said, giving Walburga a nod. A flick. A small light. Her painting froze, leaving the woman in stasis and giving Harry the quiet necessary to pace around. When Kreacher began to get upset once more at Harry’s treatment of his mistress, Harry did the same to the elf. Sirius blinked. “An offer she can’t refuse. I know her, perhaps better than your dear mother thinks. Narcissa loves her family, more than anything.”

“Are we going to kidnap her kid?” Sirius asked. Harry shook his head.

“I’m a father, do you think I could do that to someone?” Harry asked. It was Sirius’ turn to shake his head, but Harry could see that moment of hesitation in his eyes. Harry took a deep breath. “I hadn’t told you, but we are doing more than just gathering the Horcruxes to destroy them. We have something of a plan to kill two birds with one stone. Get rid of as many Death Eaters as possible, make the inevitable return to the public less of a headache.”

“Keep your family safe by making sure that all the Death Eaters are too afraid or too dead to attack your kids?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded. “I approve, though I wish you’d told me. If you want me to sneak into Azkaban with a knife-”

“You’ll never go back there,” Harry said, steel in his voice. Sirius shut his mouth. “Narcissa isn’t a Death Eater, but she’s married to one. I’ve heard that Lucius Malfoy is afraid for his life, and rightfully so. If she helps us, I will not touch him.”

“You’d let a Death Eater go?”

“If it could save my family, I’d let Voldemort burn down this entire country,” Harry said. Sirius knew he meant it. Harry flicked his wand again, waking Kreacher. “Shut up you miserable little gremlin. I need that locket.”

Kreacher stood up from the ground, looking at his still frozen mistress in the painting and then over to Harry. Whatever he saw in Harry’s eyes, it caused the elf to pop away. Kreacher appeared only seconds later, holding the locket up to Harry with a soft grip.

Harry reached into one of his pockets, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a dark glove. He put it on before grabbing the locket. As he pulled the glove off and over the locket, using it as a makeshift bag, he gave Sirius a smile. Sirius could not find it in him to smile back.

###

They had returned Sunday night, and the changes had already begun. That Monday morning, Astoria sat down at the Hufflepuff table next to Teddy, wielding an expression that dared anyone to tell her off for it. Though Snape looked like he wanted to say something, Teddy could see Professor McGonagall rather than Professor Sprout stop the man from standing up and causing a scene.

That night, he wrote Tonks a letter.

It was strange, calling her by her last name. She wasn’t a fan of her given name, which he couldn’t understand, because to him it was cool and unique. She wrote back, cracking a few jokes that made him laugh, and telling him about an embarrassing story of Cedric in his first year.

The next night, he wrote Tonks a letter, and he started to feel strange. Someone who outright told him just didn’t see herself as his mother, but still was kind enough to respond to his letters in earnest.

Just like with Remus, when Teddy thought of his mother, he could not think of Tonks. His parents were Harry and Daphne, and in the end, Tonks was at an age where it was hard to see her as anything besides a cool older sister.

He was willing to accept that. He hoped that Tonks would, too.

At least the awkwardness between him and Remus had disappeared. Classes went more smoothly now, and the rumour mill was back at it again spreading stupid gossip about inane things. As he walked from one class to another, holding his book with his still unfinished letter hidden between the pages, Teddy ended up cornered in a hallway by a handful of older Slytherin students.

“Hey,  _ Mr. Lupin _ ,” one of them said in a mocking tone. A boy maybe two or three years older than him, who decided his words weren’t enough, shoving Teddy against the wall. “What’s a  _ bastard _ like you doing with Greengrass?”

Teddy glared up at him. It was rare that he had to do with classmates who actually stood taller, but that wasn’t a reason for him to cower. Not over something  _ this _ stupid.

“She’s my cousin,” Teddy said, trying to shove past him. The boy’s two friends, another guy and a girl, grabbed Teddy’s arms and shoved him back once more. “Is this really how you want to make your point? Gang up on a twelve year old?”

It was strange how predictable bullies were. It was something he had noticed in his first year as well, the kind of people who would get angry when you slighted them. And nobody was as easily slighted as the purebloods who thought they were better than anyone else.

The boy, angry, lashed out with his fist. Teddy, still held in place, reflexively lowered his head, trying to dodge.

Instead he managed to lean into the punch, his head snapping back against the hard stone wall of the hallway, bruising both his forehead and the back of his head. He screamed in pain, but the girl held his mouth shut. Biting her gave him enough freedom to reach for his wand. Through tears and blurred vision, he saw the boy do the same.

“Strepitus,” he intoned. A spell his father had taught him for emergencies. The wand shook for a moment and released a loud noise, like cracking thunder in their eardrums. What was left was a ringing in everyone’s ears. Teddy had expected it, though the knowledge of what would happen did not aid him in stopping the painful headache and tinnitus that felt like someone was shoving needles through his ears. He stumbled away, finding his robes still in the grasp of one of the bullies.

A red spell flew past him. A boy with red hair stood there, wearing Gryffindor robes, leveling his wand at them. Teddy blinked the tears out of his eyes, recognizing one of the twins, though he could not say which one was which. The grasp on his robes loosened and he stumbled forward. The Weasley rushed towards him, grabbing Teddy and lifting him up. The hallway filled quickly with people investigating the noise as the boy carried him away.

The way towards the hospital wing, if what little he could still see wasn’t an illusion. At least he wasn’t being kidnapped by another house.

What followed was more of a haze. Teddy could see someone walk into the hospital wing, a blob of black that approached him in a way that might have been intended to be menacing. Someone stepped up to him, and though he could not hear what was being said, the black blob moved out of the room, leaving Teddy at the mercy of the wand being waved over his face.

After a few minutes of examination, his eyes returned to normal through a quick spell, Teddy saw Madam Pomfrey give instructions to the Weasley boy, who ended up keeping Teddy’s head steady as the woman poured some slimy potion into his ear canal. It was cold at first, and then uncomfortably warm. It slushed around, making him shiver, but the boy’s grasp on Teddy’s head was firm, leaving him at the mercy of the potion’s effects.

After five minutes of lying around, the potion made a hissing noise, and Teddy could see wisps of smoke in the corner of his vision. His one ear, now clear, allowed him to hear the healer’s instructions.

“The other side now,” she said. Teddy wanted to protest, but one glare caused his mouth to snap shut. Resigning himself to the disgusting feeling, Teddy turned around, allowing the woman to pour the other half of the potion into his ear.

All the magic in the world, and she used a potion to cure a burst eardrum.

Or maybe his dad was right, Teddy thought for a moment. Madam Pomfrey was the kind of person who would pick the worst feeling treatment with the intention to make people more careful.

His only joy came from the groaning Slytherins who were being treated as well, unable to take the potion without moaning and turning around, pouring parts of it out, causing delays in their cure.

“You have to teach me that spell,” Weasley Twin said, smiling at him. Teddy couldn’t help but grin up at the boy, hearing the sizzling that announced his freedom only seconds later. Teddy sat up, rubbing his ears, then holding his nose shut and trying to blow air out of it. His ears, clearer than ever, caused things to sound just a bit off. A bit echoing. Slightly too loud.

“It’s not very hard, I didn’t exactly practice it,” Teddy said, rubbing the back of his neck. The admittance caused another angry look from the matron of the hospital wing. Teddy smiled at her. “Not very hard, but very effective if you need to surprise someone.”

“I’ll say, I could’ve sworn I saw some blood run down your ear earlier,” the boy said. “Fred Weasley, by the way. At your service.”

“Ah, Teddy Lupin!” Teddy found himself saying, stretching out a hand. Fred took it. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Weasley.”

“Nothing good, I hope,” Fred said, shaking hands with the younger boy. Teddy smiled, shrugging. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy to make enemies, anything I should be worried about?”

“Just a few people who don’t take kindly my cousin and I are friendly despite being in different houses,” Teddy said. He wished he could say that all Hufflepuffs were welcoming to the young girl. For all the talks about how houses were representative of personality traits, he felt that some Hufflepuffs were there for no reason other than their lack of courage, wit, and cunning, rather than an overabundance of friendliness, loyalty, and hard work.

“Anyone mess with you, just call your good friend, Fred Weasley,” Fred said, proudly thumping his chest. “Same goes for your cousin, alright? I know your House Prefects would help, too, but I find that my way of doing things is much more effective.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said, stepping up. They hadn’t noticed the woman’s approach, and it was only a short glance towards Madam Pomfrey that stopped her from moving towards Teddy. Upon receiving a nod, she stepped up to his bed. Her glare was fierce, though it melted into worry when she looked over Teddy. The wounds were healed, but he was still kind of out of it. “Are you alright, Mr. Lupin?”

“I’ve been better,” Teddy admitted, glancing over to the still groaning and crying Slytherins. “I… uh, sorry about the noise. Are they alright?”

“They’ll be fine,” she said, frowning. “And Professor Snape will handle their punishment,” she continued, taking a moment to narrow her eyes at Fred’s doubtful scoff, “though that still leaves you. Professor Sprout will be here momentarily.”

“I… don’t see why I should be punished,” Teddy said, crossing his arms. “It was self defence. I could’ve had a concussion!”

“You did have one,” Fred said. Teddy spread his arms.

“See?” Teddy said. “Are you going to punish me for defending myself from three older students, Professor?”

“Of course not,” Professor Sprout’s voice made them all turn towards the woman, who had just entered the wing. “I would reward you for your impressive spellwork, though I find it best not to rock the boat too much when it comes to things like these. Are you alright, son?”

“Yes,” Teddy said, grinding the word out with a sigh. “I was hoping for a few more months before sitting here, but otherwise, I’m fine.”   
  


McGonagall muttered something that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘father’. Teddy tried to stand, helped by Fred when he found himself stumbling.

“Let’s say fair is fair,” Teddy said, shrugging. “Professor Snape will give them a slap on the wrist, so I’ll get one too. I think bleeding out of our ears is punishment enough.”

Professor McGonagall, clearly not amused, looked ready to protest. The moment she opened her mouth, the gears in her head were turning, and she stayed quiet.

“If I may, Professor,” Teddy said, remembering Harry’s words on how Hogwarts ended up being run, the laissez-faire attitude towards some student’s behaviour, and the subsequent rule-breaking that was only stopped by threats of detention and some meaningless house cup. “If you really wish to punish me, unjustly as I may think it is, and the punishment for ganging up on a child with a group of young adults is a slap on the wrist… perhaps it’d be time to rethink the punishments.”

Because petty bullying was one thing. Assault was another.

Headmistress McGonagall in the year of 2010 knew that. Her attitude, marred by what Harry called ‘the cruelty of war’, had seen her be more consequent and harsh in her punishments for people so willingly to cause harm to their fellow students.

This McGonagall had the illusion of fairness still ingrained in her mind.

Teddy wasn’t much of a fan of zero-tolerance policies.

“I will keep that in mind, Mr. Lupin,” McGonagall said. She looked unhappy, and her voice was tight, like she was tying off her throat to avoid whatever emotion she was feeling from leaking into it. “Do you wish for me to contact your guardian?”

“Better not,” Teddy said, frowning. Harry wouldn’t be happy. “I’ll write him a letter.”


End file.
